


Through the Stars

by violetnyte



Series: Through the Stars [1]
Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cain is broken, Codependency, Domestic Violence, Domesticity, Love is hard, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Psychological Trauma, everyone is broken, sadfeels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:43:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 112,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetnyte/pseuds/violetnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt from more-biting: Post-war. Cain and Abel are in a relationship and living together. Cain has PTSD and starts mistreating Abel and Abel doesn’t know how to help him. Lots of angst and sadfeels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Sit on the balcony to smoke and drink, that’s my nine to five, fuck going to some small grey cube to eat shit and die a little from it everyday. Die a little faster here, smoking and drinking, know it’s bad for me and have to hear him bitch about it all the time, complain about the smoke. Made Abel look at apartments until he found one with a balcony, somewhere for me to sit and drink and smoke, not bothering him with worthless I am.

Can’t fucking fight anymore, nothing to fight here on Earth, nothing but pretty blue skies and crosswalks, green cut lawns and fast moving cars. Faster here than on the colonies, fast like racing through the stars. Get Abel to take me out on his bike sometimes, push him to go faster, fast around the curving road up the hills at night. Won’t let me drive anymore, not since the crash, went too fast and can’t tell him I wanted it, had to say it was an accident, racing through the fucking stars.

He’s the navigator, still gets to drive, I’m the fighter who can’t fight, just sit on a balcony to drink and smoke. Fight my liver and my lungs, bitches don’t stand a chance. Sometimes get so he has to come navigate me anyway, pull me to bed where I’m too drunk to fuck him, can’t even fight in a way that’s good. Hear him make little noises that I hate. Don’t know why he sticks around.

Fight him sometimes too, get confused in a way he can’t stand and I don’t blame him, don’t know why he sticks around. Bruised his face up once. Had to say it was an accident, don’t know if anyone believed him, everyone looking at me like I hate. Didn’t mean to, not sure he believed me either, had to leave for a few days until he panicked, got so scared, hate seeing him like that, couldn’t stand his voice leaving me messages, begging at me to come home. Guess he gets to be home now. Don’t have anywhere else to go, don’t know why he stays.

Drink so I can get stupid, so I won’t have any stupid dreams. Don’t want to wake up him crying all bruised up, me fighting at him in my sleep, not asleep because it’s bright fucking daylight. Just going out of my head, trying to fight everything, trying to keep him safe but I’m what’s hurting him. Can’t stand the way it is, can’t stand to leave, can’t stand to see him go, don’t know why he stays but so fucking glad he does. Can’t tell him that since he needs to leave and we both know it.

Think I’m there sometimes, think I’m still seeing him get hurt. It’s smoke and screaming, blood and bone, leg twisted up so it’ll never be okay afterward, nothing’s ever okay after that. Bastards got him, hurting him, I gotta get up and fight but I can’t. Can’t fight anymore, war’s over. Just gotta sit here and smoke, drink, wait for him to come home because I guess I’m home now, guess he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He needs a fighter and all he’s got is me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I think it’s one of his good days. They’re getting rarer, so that each one seems special, fragile in a way that hurts. He’s on the balcony when I come home, because he’s always out there when I’m not home, out there when I am home on the bad days. I try to make a lot of noise when I get home from work. I take the long way around the apartment complex, so he can see my bike, hear the engine purr. I’m not too loud, nothing sudden, because if it’s a good day I don’t want to make it bad.

I turned on the blender once when he was sleeping, stretched out across the sofa, and it brought him bolt upright in a white-faced panic, made it so I had to almost scream at him to let me go. He tackled me to the kitchen floor, held me down, scared me so bad until I realized he wasn’t doing anything other than covering me with his body, shaking with fear, trying to protect me from a stupid blender. It was a bad day after that. One of the days we don’t talk about, the ones where he drinks too much and one of us ends up crying, usually me, since it’s only on the worse days that he does, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even remember those.

But today is a good day, I can tell because he comes inside right away, almost like he was waiting for me. Maybe he heard the motorcycle, saw me go by. He’s half-leaning, half-sitting on the arm of a sofa, all the weight off his bad leg.  He doesn’t say anything at first, which is fine, he’s inside at least, looks steady enough that I don’t think he drank too much yet.

I worry, worry so much, he shouldn’t drink as much as he does but I don’t know what else to do. He gets a pension check, the paltry bit they send veterans, spends it all on cigarettes and liquor. I never ask him for money, never let him see the bills. We just don’t talk about it, don’t talk about the fact he hasn’t worked in months, don’t talk about how I pay for everything. I don’t care, I really don’t. I don’t know what else to do except try and keep him safe, because he tries to keep me safe, tries so hard that it’s breaking him, makes him jump at shadows.

It’s why I can’t leave him. Mother asked me, just the once, when she came to visit at the worst possible time, because it had been a bad day for several days. We talked for a bit over tea, not really about anything but always about something. It’s always kind of strained since we’ve only got the one bed and she knows it. He wasn’t home. He left after the fight, after I got sense into him, made him snap out of the fit. He saw what he’d done, left in a hurry. It was a bad day.

Mother gave me a little tube of concealer, for the bruises. Pressed it into my hand on her way out the door and gave me such a look of understanding that I nearly called my father, nearly drove to his office and punched him. I didn’t, though. I just threw the concealer away and called Cain, called him crying, begged him to come home. I know he didn’t mean it, I know he gets confused, I see the way he tries to protect me even though he’s probably the only thing I need protection from anymore.

It’s been a little different since then. He drinks more, says less. There’s fewer good days. It’s like the time right before his accident, when I let him borrow my motorcycle and he crashed. Now I make him ride behind me, don’t let him borrow the bike. I’m not sure it was an accident, but I’m too scared to ask. Too scared he’ll say yes.

But it’s a good day, I know it’s a good day when he talks to me, when he asks, “How was work?”

There’s a flatness in how he asks. He doesn’t really care, he just felt like needed to say something because it’s a good day. I smile and say, “Work was good. I’m getting close to finishing the hybrid project.”

I told him about the project before, but I can see the blank way my words register. He’s forgotten, or he didn’t care enough to remember. He just shrugs and leans up from the arm of the sofa. He’s got a limp now, makes it so he seems lazy, never wanting to move around too much. He has to put his hand on the back of the sofa to walk around it. They tried to make him use a cane, tried to send him to therapy, but of course he wouldn’t go. He’s too stubborn for that.

He gets right up to me, puts his arm around me. He pulls me into him for a kiss, deep and possessing, so I get weak in the knees and close my eyes. He tastes like cigarettes and whisky, like danger and desire. He tastes like how Cain always tastes. It feels normal, good like it hasn’t been in a long time, so I get a lump in my throat.

I’m shaky by the time he’s done, by the time he pushes me away. He keeps his arm around me, looking down at me. “Missed you,” he says.

I can’t say anything, can’t say a word without feeling like I might cry. It won’t be a good day anymore if I do. I smile instead, try to seem playful about it. I rub into him, curl my fingers into the thick, shaggy depths of his hair.

He responds by pulling me against his thigh, so my crotch grinds into him. There’s a grin on his face, something playful and feral. He kisses me again, kisses me so I’m silly and dizzy, hot all over and he knows it, he can feel my erection against his leg. He has to half-sit, half-lean against the arm of the sofa again, pulling me into him, just kissing me in a way that’s almost slow, tender.

I end up on my knees. It’s easier this way, he has a hard time getting down and then back up on account of his bad leg. I want to do this for him anyway, want to feel his hands in my hair, the way he groans. I like when he gets close and his bad leg twitches. I bet he hates it, but I secretly love it, love seeing him unwind a little.

I get his pants open, get his cock out so I can nuzzle my face into it. “Fuck, yeah,” he says. He kind of whispers it at me, sounding kind of shaky, so I have to think about how long it’s been. We haven’t had a good day in so long.

He’s got his hands in my hair, I’ve got my mouth on him, it is so good, feels like normal. He moans at me, groans at me, huffing as he gets closer. I put my hand on his knee, slide it up to his thigh, so I can feel the wrecked muscles start to spasm.

I love him so much. That’s all I can think of in that moment, when he gets jittery and starts to come, when I have to start swallowing, when his hand tightens into my hair and he gasps, “Oh, fuck! Ethan!”

I didn’t say that to my mother, when she asked. Asked me so quietly, tentative, like maybe she knew the answer because she’d just pressed a little tube of concealer into my hand. I just told her there were good days, that it wasn’t all bad. Didn’t want to tell my mother that I love Cain, but maybe I should have. I love the good days, so I don’t mind the bad ones. I just wish there were more of them, that they didn't feel so rare.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Wake up in the wrong room, everything wrong, feeling furious and panicked in a way I hate. Got my fist against the door, banging on it, have to stop when I wake up and realize I’m in the wrong room. Standing in the hall in my fucking underwear, banging on the door to the office, Abel on the other side yelling at me.

“Cain! Cain, it’s okay! I’m okay! Please, wake up!”

Sounding like he’s close to sobbing, fucking hate it when he sounds like that, glad the door’s in the way so I can’t see him. Sounding so scared because he’s hiding in the office. I’ve got a hand around the doorknob, twisted all the way over but the door’s not budging, guess he’s on the other side holding it shut. Let it go quick, back away from the door. Just the office door, just this stupid fucking apartment on Earth. Nothing wrong except me, nothing to be afraid of except me.

“Cain?” Because I’ve stopped banging at the door, because I’m not trying to break into the office anymore. Broke the bathroom door once, had to get new one. Abel told them it was an accident. Everything’s always a fucking accident.

Have to lean against the wall, leg on fucking fire, smoke and blood and Abel screaming, bastards going to hurt him unless I stop it, everything gone wrong so now nothing gets to be right anymore. Nothing gets to be okay.

Have to lean against the wall until I sag to the floor, going to be hard to get back up again so maybe I’ll sleep in the hall, make it so Abel can go back to bed and feel safe.

The door opens, slow, just a sliver and then further. “Cain?” He pushes the door open more, pale face catching the gloom. Always leaves the kitchen light on, guess he thinks it’s better that way, makes the apartment seem nicer when I ruin everything into shit like this.

He gets the door open all the way, steps out into the hall. Kneels down next to me in a way that’s slow, in a way that says he’s not scared of me but he should be. He touches my shoulder, just barely, only when he touches me do I realize I’m covered in sweat, shaking. Leg shaking worst of all, leg on fire, Abel screaming. Have to close my eyes, have to not think about it. Just this stupid apartment, just some big-eyed cute blond named Ethan sitting with me, nothing wrong but me.

“Hey…” Doesn’t know what else to say. Never does, don’t blame him. Knows I’m awake now, knows I’m back with him, don’t know why he wants me but he does, he keeps sticking around. He strokes at my hair, slow and steady.

“Okay?” Hate that I have to ask.

“Yeah,” he says. Some moving around, light behind my closed eyes. And then, sounding kind of firm about it. “Hey. Look at me.”

Open my eyes, he’s turned the hall light on so it’s bright, bright that I squint. He’s sitting up close next to me, hand on my arm. Not a mark on him, no bruises, I only bruised him up the once and I didn’t mean it, didn’t know it was him.

Don’t say anything, hate that he knows what I’m thinking, hate that he feels like he has to prove something, has to prove to me I didn’t hurt him. Means I tried to, means I got lost, needed my fucking navigator so bad I forgot I already had him. Got confused, all messed up because my leg’s not the only thing wrecked.

Can’t put a metal rod in my brain, maybe they should. Going to send me to the shrinks again, always scared he’s going to come home with a straitjacket for me. Faked it good enough to get discharged, medically unfit on account of my leg. Went to the colonies, sat around for a while, don’t remember most of that time, guess I wasn’t so good at faking it anymore. Hated the hospital, don’t like to think about it, can’t think about that year.

Better when he retired out from the service and got some easy grey office job on Earth. Went out to the colonies to find me. Guess I remember that, him coming into the hospital, that plastic visitor’s badge. Asked me to come with him, don’t know why, probably scared shitless I’d say yes, not sure why I said yes anyway, faked it so they’d let me go, think he got his rich fancy father to pull strings because I’m not so good at faking it anymore. Guess he thought he could fix me, guess he thought I wouldn’t be so lost if I had my navigator back.

“Get up,” he says. Quick, commanding, so I’m pretty sure this is the end. He’s going to kick me out finally, throw me out into the hall. Chuck my stuff off the balcony. Not much, just clothes, some stuff he’s given me, that stupid get well soon teddy bear from the accident, the one where I tumbled and skidded over the pavement so now my bad leg’s worse, got a metal rod in it, can’t fucking walk sometimes.

One of those times. Can’t get up, not going to try. Don’t want him to see me trying, struggling, can’t fight anymore. Nothing to fight except myself, losing that fight a bit more everyday. Don’t want him to know it’s getting worse, that I couldn’t sit on the balcony today because someone was grilling a fucking picnic, couldn’t handle the fiery smell. Thought it was something burning, blood and smoke, Abel screaming, leg fucked and can’t get up.

“Sacha, get up, let’s go.” He grabs my arm, pulls at me. Knows I’m back now, that I’ve woken up, doesn’t have to call me by my task name anymore even though I still think he’s Abel half the time, don’t call him Abel to be cute about it like I used to, call him Abel because I get confused too much. Calls me Cain half the time anyway, sometimes when he’s coming, pretty little face all scrunched up nice. Still thinks of me as Cain just like I still think of him as Abel, because Cain and Abel belong together.

Guess it’s worth it to struggle sometimes. Get my elbow into the wall, bracing my weight, let him help the rest of the way. Takes some time, takes some effort, leg tries to buckle but I manage. Let him push me toward the bedroom.

Sheets thrown off the bed, pillows everywhere, room’s a fucking warzone because I made it one, thought it was one. Must have come awake in a bad way, scared Abel out into the hall, made him go hide in the office. Glad I wasn’t there for it, feel bad he had to be.

He dumps me on to the bed. Turns on more lights. Goes into the closet and starts throwing clothes at me. “Get dressed,” he says.

Guess he won’t put me outside in my underwear, have to be thankful for that. Do what he says, put my clothes on, except the sweatshirt’s his anyway, some prep college thing. Takes me a bit on the jeans, always kind of awkward now on account of my leg. Hate looking at the scars, the twisted bone, the ruin and sag compared to the other leg with it’s the lean, strong muscles and unbroken skin.

He has to pull me up from the bed, bully me down the hall toward the front door. Makes me put on my leather jacket, he’s in that sleek white and green motorcycle jacket I like, the one that makes him sexy.

“No,” I say. “Not tonight.”

“Yes, tonight,” he says. Hot when he talks back sometimes, especially in that jacket.

Have to limp after him, he’s going quick but not so fast I can’t keep up, down the elevator and through the lobby, outside to the parking lot. He straddles the bike, like seeing him on it, like how confident he looks, my navigator at the controls again.

No helmets. He never does that, always put on his helmet. Not tonight, I guess, and I won’t remind him. Get behind him, have to ride bitch but guess that’s okay. Like how he looks, like how he feels when I put my arms around his waist, press up against the white and green vinyl of his jacket.

The engine purrs up, roars beneath our legs, right into my groin, into my heart. He goes slow at first, weaving out of the parking lot, out into the dark, quiet streets. Gets a bit faster on the open road, slopes up the highway ramp and we’re flying, streetlights racing past like stars, he’s going as fast as he dares, just a breath over the limit.

Has to slow for the exit, sloping back down on the ramp and then up, up into the hills, the curves, the city dropping back. The engine roars, it’s dark, we’re the only ones out here, him climbing up into the hills, taking the curves as fast as he dares. And then down, faster, the wind whipping through my hair, the engine between my legs, danger and excitement and Abel, pressed close, my navigator leaned over the controls like he leans into the curves, like I lean into him.

I hold him tighter, get my cheek into his shoulder because I don’t know why, don’t want to think about it. Just want to feel the motion, the speed. Want to feel him against me. Seeing the stars go by, the darkness, just the headlight from the motorcycle sweeping over the dark switchbacks. He opens the throttle, faster, so fast, he’s being reckless and I guess I know why.

Wouldn’t matter if I said it, guess he probably knows, wouldn’t still be with me otherwise. He says it sometimes, says it a lot when he thinks I’m not listening. Quiet nights when we’re lying in bed, when he thinks I’m asleep, the louder nights when I’ve woken us both up, when he’s sobbing at me through doors, when I’m the one blocking him out because I don’t know why, can’t think straight, trying to keep him safe because I’m what’s dangerous.

He’s being the dangerous one now, flying over the road, faster and faster so my heart beats faster and faster. I clutch at him tight, wonder if he’s going to take us over the cliff together, put an end to the madness so I get scared, don’t want him to go this fast anymore and then maybe I do. It’s wild, and it’s beautiful, it’s such a fucked up, terrifying, perfect moment.

The engine purrs, whines, drops into a low growl as he decelerates, eases the speed back to where it’s sane, to where he just sways easily into the next bend and then coasts into the shoulder, into the wide curve, so we’re near the edge and the city lights are below us and the star lights above us. Stay pressed against his back, pressed up close to my navigator, arms around him so tight it’s probably making him uncomfortable. Maybe if I hold him tight enough I’ll stop shaking, he won’t feel me shake. Hold him tight enough so he’ll know what I want to say. Figure he probably knows it anyway, wouldn’t still be here unless he knew. Figure I’ll tell him later, when he figures out how to fix me. Good as saying never, but he doesn’t have to know that. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I am so mad I could scream, because I thought it was going to be a good day. One of those days where we wake up slow, his mouth against my shoulder just lazily trying to nibble at me, hands roving over my body. It was going to be a good day, because we slept through the night, because he called me Ethan first thing, put me on to my belly and licked me open, fucked me first with his tongue, then his fingers, got me off that way. Later he put me against the shower wall, fucked me hard that way, growling with his teeth into my shoulder so I went off fast and knew it’d be a good day when he called me Ethan again, gave everything to me, no parts of him lost into the place where I can’t follow.

Most Saturdays I stay home, stay near him so maybe he won’t go out on the balcony. If it’s a bad day, I try to give him space, go out for a little while by myself. On the good days I sometimes make him go buy groceries with me or make up excuses to leave the house, take him places. He stays inside too much, isolates himself, so I get desperate, worry too much. I’m always so tense, so worried that some car might cut too close to the motorcycle, something will happen to turn the good day into a bad one.

This is one of those days I stay home, because it’s such a good day. There are more of them lately, ever since I started taking him out for rides at night whenever I can. It’s just at night that it seems to work. He’s tense if we go out during the day, to the store or to visit friends, although we haven’t done that since the time he crashed the bike, it’s too risky, too many bad days, too few friends I trust. At night, though, when I take him riding up in the hills, it works.

At night he holds me. He has to hold on, since I won’t let him drive, he has to ride behind me and hold on, but he holds tight. He presses up into me, leans over my back. It feels peaceful sometimes. I’ll park the bike for a while, for as long as I dare, the two of us not saying a word so it’s just the night sky, the purr of the idling engine, and the stars, him pressed against me.

It makes me tired, spending my nights out late, driving everywhere and nowhere, going fast around the turns so he leans into me more, so I can feel him shudder into my back without saying a word. I just don’t know what else to do, so if it means losing sleep so he can have more good days I’ll do it. I’ll wear myself into exhaustion, maybe take a few days off if it gets to be too much. Anything so he can have more good days.

Now it’s at night and there’s nothing calm about it, nothing good about, and I’m mad, so mad. Not at him, it’s not his fault. It’s my fault, I’m an idiot, I didn’t think about it. I should have known better, should have thought about it. It was a good day, we had the whole day being good. He even snapped at me a few times, surly and grumpy, which is an odd thing to be happy but it’s more normal that way, makes it feel like nothing’s wrong.

Everything’s wrong now, because I’m an idiot. I should have known better, should have taken him outside the city or at least outside our apartment. I didn’t think about the stupid fireworks display, how it’s right over the lake, right near our apartment, the pretty balcony view looking over the lake, and everything’s exploding because people are celebrating the end of a war but I’m still trapped in one, trapped beneath Cain. It’s his war now, the war he’s always fighting alone, and it breaks my heart.

He’s got me facedown on the floor, pressing down at me with all his strength. I can feel how he’s shaking, his bad leg worst of all. Another big burst of noise and light comes in from the balcony, and he tightens over me, so tense it hurts, just growling in a way that should scare me but doesn’t, just makes me feel scared. I’m not scared of Cain, I know he wouldn’t knowingly hurt me. That time he bruised me, he didn’t know it was me. I know that, I think he understands that, but it’s awful anyway.

The bowl of popcorn is splattered across the carpet from where it flew out of my hands when he tackled me. I can hear the movie we were watching still playing on the television, the silly comedic lines now just a mockery because there’s nothing funny about the way Cain’s shaking, the way he’s got me held down, the way he’s hunched over me. It’s like with the stupid blender all over again but worse, so much worse.

“Cain? Cain, it’s okay. I’m okay.” I start off quiet about it, holding still and not fighting him, not trying to push him off me. It’s one of those times he knows it’s me, so I’m safe, he won’t hurt me, I’m more worried he’s going to hurt himself. I know he’s hurting, scared, I can feel him shaking with how he’s pressed into me, hunched over me, trying to save me from stupid fireworks.

“Stay down, Abel.” He snarls it, but it’s words, he actually talks to me so I think I can make this okay. Something bright whistles up over the lake and explodes, so he flinches and curls over me tighter.

He’s expecting to get hit, get shot, blown up trying to my save my life and it makes everything worse, makes it hard to swallow because I could cry. I almost hate these times more than the times he forgets who I am, just sees me as something unknown and terrible. Almost, because the worst is when he starts looking for me, can’t understand that I’m right there, when I have to hide so he won’t hurt me, when I feel afraid of him even though I try not to.

I have to stop this, but I can’t turn off the fireworks like I can the blender. He’s trembling so much, his bad leg jittery in a way that’s probably painful. I have a dumb idea, but it’s the only idea I have. I lower my voice into urgency. “Cain, we can’t stay here. We should get somewhere safe.”

The sky outside is crackling, the big pretty glass widows and balcony door illuminated with it. I don’t think it’ll work, but it does. He eases off me some, staying crouched, one hand on my back to make sure I stay down. “Where?” he asks.

Because I’m the navigator. I swallow and think rapidly, think about the arrangement of our apartment. “The bedroom,” I say. The windows face the other way, because I didn’t want the sun coming through in the mornings. Maybe if I can get Cain into bed with me, get him to calm down a little, he won’t strain himself like this. Maybe it won’t be a good day anymore, but I can keep it from being a bad one.

He leans his shoulder into the back of the sofa and stares at the balcony. He’s not seeing pretty bursts of color and light but something terrible, something dangerous, it’s obvious just looking at his face, the blank set of his eyes. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he’s stopped responding because he’s trying to figure out the best way to clear the room or if I’ve lost him, if he’s going somewhere I can’t follow.

I shift a little, get my arms and legs under myself. I don’t think it’ll work but it does, he doesn’t push me down again. He keeps a hand on me still, drags me against him before I can go too far away. I mimic his crouched stance, the two of us hiding behind the sofa from stupid fireworks, from threats that aren’t real except in Cain’s mind.

He doesn’t look at me when he talks. “Go, sweetheart. I’ll hold them here.”

“No, Cain. Come with me.” I can’t just leave him here to be scared, to be alone. I’m starting to think I’ve gone mad as well with the way this is happening, how serious this has become. But Cain isn’t crazy, I can’t ever think that, I promised myself I wouldn’t think of him like that, I promised myself things would be okay.

Cain shakes his head. “Leg’s fucked, princess.”

“I’ll help you.” I start slow, getting a hold of his hand and dragging it over my shoulders. “Come on, Cain.”

I can’t believe it works, I can’t believe he lets me pull him away from the balcony. He flinches at each sharp crack and bang from the fireworks, and I can’t tell if his limp is worse because he’s over-exerted himself or if that’s in his mind as well. He’s not even trying to move his leg, so I think it might be the latter, that he just thinks it’s worse than it is.

I get him into the bedroom, and it’s a little better I think, away from where we can’t see the fireworks. I can’t do anything about the noise, the terribly shrill boom and report, but he won’t have to see them now. I shove the door closed, anything to block out even that much more of the sound. Cain slings his arm over my waist and tries to force me to the floor, but I resist him as much as I dare, as much as he’ll let me, so we end up sprawled on the bed instead.

“It’s safe here,” I tell him. “We’ll be safe here.”

He doesn’t ask how I know this, he just nods. I’m the navigator, I guess that’s good enough reason to believe me. He puts himself over me, hand against my back, lifting me into his chest. He’s still shivering with tension, still not able to relax, but we’re not on the floor anymore. I don’t know what else to do but make it comfortable, wait it out as best we can. He knows it’s me, at least, and I’ve gotten him to do something about it. Maybe that’ll help, let him feel better, feel like maybe he’s protecting me like he wants.

I put my arms around him, set my face into his shoulder. “Cain, it’s okay. Lay down with me. We’ll be safe here.”

Because I can feel the strain in his leg, feel how jittery he is in the bad way. He’s on his elbows and knees, hunched over me, but it works, he shifts on to his side instead. It’ll be better now that he’s gotten the weight off his leg, now that I can get my arms around him, now that he’s just holding me rather than holding me down. He’s still so tense, wide-eyed with it, so I’m not really sure what he’s seeing. I hope he’s seeing me, at least. I run my fingers through his hair until it works, until I think he’s looking at me.

“I’m okay, Cain. We’ll be okay. It’s safe here.”

He nods, just a little, seeming very terse about it, so I’d almost feel better if he got snide, snipped at me for trying to comfort him. He doesn’t, which how I know he’s scared, how he won’t ever admit it but maybe won’t deny it either.

And that’s just how it is for a while, the fireworks outside, Cain shuddering against me and trapped in that place I don’t really understand no matter how hard I try. Eventually the fireworks stop, after a crashing finale that makes Cain curl over me tight, makes him crush me against his chest, fingers digging bruises into my arm but I clutch him just as tight, dig bruises into his back.

There’s silence from outside, but he’s still tense, still shivering, not letting go over me. “Cain?” My voice is muffled, I’m speaking directly into his collarbone. “Cain, I think it’s over now.”

His hands loosen, he lets me go a little. Not much, just enough that I think it’ll be okay now. I’m surprised to feel his lips against my hair, to feel him stroke his hand over my back in a way that’s stranger than everything else. I think he won’t say anything, think that I shouldn’t have said anything. His mouth stays against the top of my head, his arms around my back.

Then, when I think he won’t say anything, he does. “Yeah, Ethan. It’s over.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Haven’t been back since I left, Abel calling me all the time and leaving messages. Figure it’s better this way, figure it’d be harder if he got through to me. Should turn my phone off but need it, I guess, like hearing his voice sometimes so I play the messages and don’t delete them. Mailbox getting full, piece of shit phone, guess I might delete the ones where I can tell he’s crying all messy, box tissues on the bed next to him, like when we watch those dumb movies he rents sometimes.

Left without saying goodbye, always shit at saying goodbyes, like when I got discharged and Abel wanted more, wanted to tell me something, wasn’t really listening because I already knew, didn’t need to hear it when I already knew. Didn’t take much stuff, didn’t think it’d be fair, took the stupid teddy bear but ditched it after two days. Got real mad about it later, tried to find it again, punched a trash collector and had leave quick.

Miss Abel, miss the balcony, miss the nights he’d take me riding up in the hills. Too stubborn to go back, don’t have enough for a shuttle anyway, colonies seem a lot shittier without all that stupid blue sky. Stars suck, too close, can’t get them to go fast enough so I hate then, hate that I feel like I’m drowning all the time. Guess I can’t get lost if I don’t have anywhere to go.

Not doing so great by myself, can’t fake it all that well, keep an address for the checks so I can pay for four walls and a door, cigarettes and booze. Been trying to save up for a shuttle ticket back, but remember holding Abel on the bed, explosions, feeling him up against me all scared, don’t like it, can’t do it, he wouldn’t leave so I had to. Knew it wouldn’t work, knew some shit was just too broken, knew I’d fuck it up. Don’t want to hurt him anymore, hate too much about it.

No balcony to smoke on anymore, just four walls and a door. Drink too much more than I should, lock the door sometimes when I’m not feeling well. Seems to work, only woke up in the wrong room once, had to leave quick before I got arrested, cost me a whole pack of smokes and three shirts that were hanging up to dry that I forgot about. Better than getting caught, everyone asking questions.

Wake up in the wrong room but hung over, drank too much at a bar, something skinny and pretty and blond in the bed with me, think it’s Abel but it’s not. Don’t really remember after that, too mad, too scared, don’t know what’s wrong with me, don’t know why it’s not Abel. Can’t believe I fucked someone else, can’t believe I think it matters, can’t believe it bothers me.

Can’t listen to his voice after that, all those messages, decide to ditch the phone but can’t, need it. Sit for a long time in a place that’s high, feet dangling over the edge and sitting. Want to drop the phone, smash it, get it as lost as I am. Thinking about a dark curving road, going to fast, faster and faster through the stars, thinking if I go fast enough, not sure what, just know I can’t anymore, and then it’s tumbling, waking up in the hospital, Abel more upset about my leg than the bike I wrecked.

Wonder what I’ll do when the phone drops. Wonder if I’ll drop too. Wonder if the metal bar in my leg means I won’t wreck. Wonder if they’ll think it was an accident. Listen to all those messages, deleting each one after I play it. Deleting Abel’s voice.

_Oh, hey, it’s me. Just got home, didn’t see you anywhere in the apartment. Guess you’ve gone out for smokes? If you get this in time, grab some milk on the way home. Um, that’s it. Okay, bye._

_Hi, me again. Do you think you might be back anytime soon? I made spaghetti for dinner. Didn’t know if I should save you a plate. Um, I’ll keep it on the stove for a bit. Okay, bye._

_Hey, Sacha. Um, it’s Ethan. Call me when you get this?_

_Sacha, it’s Ethan again. Sorry for calling so much, but I’m getting worried. Please come home soon._

_Cain. It’s Abel. I don’t know where you are. Need you to call me. I’m in your phone under Ethan._

_Hi, Sacha. This is Ethan. I saw your duffel bag is gone, that you packed up. I looked but didn’t see a note or anything. I’d like to talk about this, so, call me. I’ll be sure to leave my phone on at work._

_Sacha, it’s Ethan again – look, did something happen? I’d really like to talk about this. If I did something to make you mad, or, look, just call me. Please call me._

_Cain? It’s Abel. I… I’m okay. Whatever happened – Cain, I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me, baby, please, believe me, nothing happened. Everything's okay. I’m fine, nothing’s wrong. Cain, I’m safe. I need you to come be safe with me, okay?_

_Cain, answer the phone. This is Abel. My number’s under Ethan, remember? I need you to call me._

_Sacha, please, answer the phone or call me back. I’ve called Aleks and Natasha, they haven’t heard from you either. I’m really worried. Just let me know you’re okay, that’s all. Send me a text or something. Text Aleks, call Natasha – Sacha, let someone know you’re okay._

_Please answer the phone, Sacha. This is Ethan. I’m sorry to keep calling._

_Sacha? Please, call me back. Just let know you’re okay. You know I lov–_

Don’t want to hear this one. Delete it. Next one’s not better.

_I’m so scared, baby, I’m so scared you’re not there anymore. I just need to know if you’re safe. Please. You don’t even have to say anything, just use your phone. Just let me know—_

Too many where he’s crying, going to run out of Kleenex soon. Makes his nose wet and cold when I kiss him, tell him it’s just a dumb movie, snarl it at him so he laughs. Like when he rents stupid movies that make him cry, always makes him soft afterward, makes his lips sweet to kiss, makes everything melt.

_… Sacha? Hi. It’s… Ethan. I dreamed about you again last night. I hope… I hope you get this message. I miss you. I still lov—_

Don’t listen to the rest, just delete them. Get to the end. Finally at the end. Got rid of Abel’s voice. Got rid of Cain for Abel, just Ethan now. Some pretty blond on Earth. Bet the scar will fade eventually. Bet it’ll be okay. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

It’s been almost a year since I last saw Cain. It seems strange to think that he’s gone. I don’t like to think about it, try to keep busy, but everything in the apartment makes me think of him and I can’t leave the apartment. The ashtray on the balcony, the shirts he left in the closet, the little stain outside the bedroom door from when he dropped a can of cola. These are all the things I have of Cain besides photographs, but I took the pictures down when Mother came to visit and couldn’t make myself look at them to put them back up.

I put the pictures in a box under the bed. When Cain’s phone stopped working months ago, I pulled the box out and cried myself sick, had to take the next day off work. I haven’t looked in the box since. I put Cain’s shirts in the back of the closet. I don’t go out on the balcony.

I go to work. I come home. I eat dinner, I watch television. I visit my parents, go see movies with friends, brush my teeth and comb my hair.

Everything’s moving on without Cain, but I have bad days now, the days where I’m the one stuck in the past. I look at the clock and think I should leave the office before it gets late, but then I remember there’s no one at home. Sometimes I smell smoke on a stranger, and I get scared. I dream that he’s on the balcony with his bottle and glass, staring out at nothing, cigarette idle in his hand. I have bad days where I can’t get out of bed, have to call in to work.

I get drunk on Christmas. I lied to my parents, told them I was going skiing with coworkers. I stayed home instead, drank too much, tried to call Cain and got the recording saying his number is no longer in service. I broke my phone, threw it off the balcony when I yelled at the stars, yelled until one of the neighbors called the cops. They were nice about it, when I answered the door sobbing, just some sad drunk alone on Christmas. I told them I wouldn’t go back out on to the balcony. One of them offered to call someone for me. I told them I would go lay down. It was a bad day.

I try to have more good days now. I take the bike out late at night, racing around the curves too fast, turning off the headlight on the straightaways so it’s just speed and stars. Sometimes I’m trying to outrace the tears that streak over my cheeks, trying to go faster than my memories. I remember Cain pressed against my back, the way he would lean his cheek into my shoulder. On the nights that it’s cold, I think I can still feel him, warmth wrapped over me, his arms tight around my waist.

It’s been a week of bad days, not so bad that I can’t go to work. Just days where it’s hard to get out of bed, where I don’t feel like eating, when people start to ask if I’m okay. I tell them it’s allergies. It explains the box of tissues, explains anyone who hears me sniffling at my desk. Just a lot of bad days in a row.

I leave work early on Friday. The old lady in the apartment down the hall catches me in the lobby, asks how I am, tells me about her grandson the doctor again. I keep turning her down, keep making up excuses. I let a guy at a bar pick me up a few weeks ago, got in a cab and went to his place. We kissed, a lot, but he wanted more. I couldn’t do it, couldn’t cheat on Cain even though he’s gone, made an awkward mess of things so I’m glad I told him my name was Abel.

Now it’s just another bad day. I put my helmet by the door, let my jacket fall to the carpet. I don’t feel like hanging it up in the closet. I look to the balcony, same as always on the bad days, and he’s there.

Lounged back in his chair, feet up on the rail, cigarette idle in his hand. Staring out at nothing. He brings the cigarette to his lips as I watch, so that the ember glows and then he breathes smoke. Slow and lazy, sitting on the balcony smoking.

I am nothing in that moment. I wonder if my bad day has finally gotten worse, if this is all some dream, if I’ll wake up alone in a shadowed bed, staring at the unused pillow opposite mine. I am nothing except thudding heart beats and strangled breathing, locked into panic like there’s fireworks shattering the sky.

I see him look aside, look into the apartment. He rises up from the chair. Puts the cigarette into the ashtray. There are several others already snubbed into the ashes. He’s been out there a while.

This is real.

He’s real.

This is happening.

My knees give out. I puddle to the floor next to my jacket.

He’s inside, moving quick, getting around the sofa to where I’m trying to pick myself up from the floor. “Ethan—“

It’s too much, I start making these terrible noises, so I can’t even hear what he says besides my name. He puts a hand through my hair, rubs my shoulder, kind of growls at me to shut up, to stop crying, cut that shit out, Ethan.

“Don’t be a dream,” I sob at him.

I hear him snarl, feel him shake my shoulders. It doesn’t work, so he has to put his arms around me, let me claw at his back and shake with hysterics. He smells warm, sunlight-heated from sitting outside, his hair bitter with smoke. He feels thin, worn, so I wonder wildly where he’s been, what happened, what he’s doing here. I can’t calm down, I can’t do anything, until I realize he’s at such an odd angle on the floor, collapsed down with his bad leg angled so it looks uncomfortable.

It motivates me into sniveling silence, makes me kind of push at him until I see him shift the weight off his leg, see him settle back so it’s more comfortable. I sit close as I dare, close as I think he’ll let me.

He gives me a blank kind of look, almost like he’s wary of me, scared and trying not to show it. “You done crying now, princess?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Good.” He frowns at me, really starts to glare the longer I stare back at him. At last he looks away, looks up at the ceiling. He’s leaned back on his hands, legs out straight so it’s less obvious which one bothers him.

“Sacha?”

“What?” He scowls at the ceiling.

I panic, suddenly, wondering if the last year really happened or, if it did, if he knows it. Maybe he went out to get a pack of smokes, got lost on the way home, kept getting lost. Dropped his phone somewhere or broke it, forgot about it until the contract expired. But his bag was gone, most of his clothes were gone, so much of him gone and then, at the same time, so much more of him left behind.

I start to cry again, I can’t help it, because he isn’t saying anything and I’m too scared to bring it up, too scared he’ll leave again if I try. Something falls out of me anyway, something I’d refused to put into words but now I have to, I’m choking on it.

I sob at him, “I thought you were dead.”

He puts an arm around me, brings me against his side. He’s warm, thinner than he should be, smelling like fire and water, smoke and sweat, so real it hurts. I am so scared I am going to wake up, that this isn’t really happening. I don’t even know what to do, I can’t even think.

When I’ve calmed down somewhat, he tips me back for a kiss. His lips are soft against mine, so tender and sweet that my eyelashes close over a pool of tears. The moisture squeezes out the sides and runs down my wet cheeks, but his hands are there, cupping my face, his thumbs running across the crest of my cheekbones. His fingers curl against the back of my neck.

“Missed you,” he says. Whispers it, almost, lips moving against mine.

I can’t say anything back, because I have missed him so terribly that it broke me. Acknowledging it would take more than mere words, it would take more words than either of us possess. I just close my eyes, tip willingly into his touch.

We stay like that for a while, not talking about what happened, just him letting me cry off and on because I can’t manage to get myself under control, not when he keeps kissing me, keeps touching me, looking and smelling and feeling so real.

Eventually we get up from off the floor. He needs help getting up again, on account of his leg, and he only grumbles a little about it, takes my offered hand and lets me help him. I don’t know what to do other than ask if he’s eaten, reheat something from last night when he says he hasn’t. He looks like he’s skipped several meals, drinking and smoking all day with no one to come home and make sure he eats.

It makes me sad, heavy sorrow that exceeds tears. I don’t know where he’s been, what he’s been doing. I’m too scared to ask. His dark eyes are heavy, shadowed, too serious so I don’t know what he’s thinking, why he left or why he came back, where he’s been, if he’s okay now or if this is just a good day, the best day. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Wake up in the wrong room, can’t remember why, not sure why it’s wrong because I don’t know what’s right. Abel sobbing, right into my neck, he’s all this wet and shaking. Dark in the room, just the little nightlight in the bathroom, he likes to leave a little light and I’m never sure if that’s for me or him.

Sitting upright in bed, trembling something awful, tense like I could shatter and I don’t know why. Abel sobbing at me, clutching his little fingers into my back, pleading at me with a rhythm that I realize is words.

“Cain, it’s okay. Please, it’s okay. It was just a helicopter, just a helicopter, okay? You’re safe. I’m safe.”

Guess I’m breathing hard, got my hands knotted in the sheets. Need to relax but can’t, hot nerves like a live wire. Gotta keep Abel safe, can’t figure out what’s wrong. Don’t like this feeling. Don’t want this to happen.

“Cain, please, baby, you’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

He’s gotten stupid with it, my navigator gone to pieces. Hate it, hate that he keeps crying, the box is running low on tissues and we’re not even at the end of the movie. Guess that’s my fault, guess I made him scared all the way down, the two of us shaking at noises in the night. Shouldn’t have come back, don’t know why I did, found myself on the balcony and figured it was a nice day for smoking. Didn’t drink, Ethan doesn’t keep liquor in the house.

Guess he thinks I’m awake now, awake enough to pet at me, he’s just skinny and pretty, lean little muscles and big eyes, soft hair. Soft skin, not soft beneath it, tough and feisty so he’s sexy. Broke him, he’s broken, not so tough anymore, shaking at noises in the night, crying all the time.

Only been back a day and already feeling like I did the wrong thing, made it worse. Thought I was dead, figured he would, nearly was and should have stayed, shouldn’t have come here. Thought it was warm on the balcony, saw Abel staring at me like he’d seen a ghost, I’m a ghost.

Guess I have to say something, have to let go of the blankets before I rip them. Tell him, “Okay.”

Hear it all leave him in a rush, a trembling sigh, he kisses my shoulder and leans into me. Stops crying, still shaking, maybe that’s me, can’t tell anymore. Losing myself so I’m lost, don’t know why I’m here, getting harder to remember what to do. Only been back a day and already wondering why. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I wake up slow, lazy because I know it’s Saturday, know I don’t anywhere to be.  Sometimes, on the bad days, I won’t get out of bed until well past noon, until my stomach is tight with hunger, so it takes me a few minutes to remember last night, to remember that Cain finally came home.

I sit up in a hurry, slide my hands all over his side of the bed. The sheets are cold, none of his warmth lingering, like it was all a dream and I think I might go mad, might scream, might not be able to do this anymore. But his pillow, it smells just faintly of smoke, bitter and sweet in a way that’s nice, so my heart stops thudding quite so hard, so that I don’t think it’ll break all over again.

I get out of bed and find something simple to wear, something bright and clean because that’s how I want to feel. I don’t hear Cain, so I have to go look for him. It’s strange, I’m almost tip-toeing through the apartment, a bit clear-headed with relief and starting to get anxious all over again.

Cain woke up in the middle of the night, woke me up with it as well, tense and shaking so I didn’t know what to do. I’d started to convince myself he was okay, that he’d gone away for a year to get better, that maybe it was just too hard for him to see me while getting treatment. I’m naive and stupid that way, but he seemed okay. Quiet, subdued, trying to act like normal so hard I could see it was an act but didn’t care so long as I had him back.

I just wanted to feel him close, curl against him, but he rolled me over the pillows in a way that was insistent, gentle. He called me Ethan, called me sweetheart, moved into me with a slow, tender rhythm, so that I started to cry. Softly, embarrassed, but he kissed my wet cheeks and wet lips and shuddered into me with aching slowness until I stopped crying, started gasping and moaning. He brought me off twice, came himself only after I pulled his hair and called him Sacha, gasped it in the throws of orgasm. He held me for a long time after, drowsy and sated, mouth against my neck and hands against my chest and hips. We fell asleep that way.

And woke up terrified by his terror in the middle of the night, knowing nothing was different, that Cain still couldn’t let go, still couldn’t handle sudden noises. Knowing that it would only be a matter of time until we had a bad day, one of those days he doesn’t recognize me, one of those nights he comes awake with fists and shouts. Knowing that it didn’t matter, knowing that I still loved him just as much as ever, so scared to ever lose him, so happy just to have him back.

I find Cain stretched out on the sofa. He doesn’t look comfortable, leg twisted up under him, head buried under the throw pillow, arms dangling askew. It gives me pause, because I don’t know what happened, why he’s here. Not just here as in on the sofa, rather than in the bed or on the balcony, but here as in the apartment.

I don’t know how I feel about the fact he left with his keys. I have a sudden flash of vertigo, wondering what would have happened had I changed the locks, had I moved. He seems so fragile now, so transient. I’m so scared he’ll leave again. I’m so scared to know where he’s been, what happened.

I’m not sure what to do. I think he’s asleep, so I don’t want to startle him. I go to the kitchen and start making noise, nothing sudden, nothing too loud. I get milk and cereal, bang gently through the cabinets doing so, sit at the table to eat breakfast.

It works, he wakes up, or he was already awake. I don’t know, but it works. I see him appear over the back of the sofa, dark circles under his eyes, looking thin and strained. Something happened to him over the past year, something I’m sure I won’t like if he tells me.

“Make pancakes,” he says. His voice is scratchy, faint. I can barely hear him.

I set my spoon back into the bowl of cereal. “What?”

He sags, the position too awkward with his leg. I see him struggle for a moment to push free of the sofa, to stand up. His limp seems worse, or maybe it’s been so long that I’d forgotten. He comes toward me at something of a shuffle. He’s wearing the same shirt and jeans he showed up in yesterday. I don’t know if his duffel bag is in the bottom of the closet again. I didn’t think to look.

He leans into the table next to me. “Pancakes. I want you to make them.”

I stare up at him. “Now?”

“Yeah.” He looks away first, stares off at the kitchen like he’s not evening seeing it, so it makes me nervous. “Please, Ethan.”

Which he never says, never asks for anything like this, so I have no idea what is happening but I guess I’m going to make pancakes for breakfast. I pick up my half-eaten bowl of cereal and pour it down the drain. I start to reach for the switch for the garbage disposal and stop, jerk my hand away quick. I’ll have to run it later, when he’s out on the balcony or in the shower, when he can’t hear the sudden grinding, the loud disaster. I can’t believe I nearly forgot.

It just reminds me of how strange this is, how wrong yet oh-so-right it feels to have Cain sulking at the end of the bar. Just watching me, eyes a bit distant, like he’s not really seeing me. I don’t know what else to do except get out a mixing bowl, a measuring cup, a wire whisk. I have to pull down the batter-stained cookbook, the old beat-up thing that Cain beat up all the worse trying to learn to cook.

It only lasted a little while, his cooking lessons, back before he crashed the bike, back when we had so many good days that it doesn’t seem real. I’d come home from work to find him growling and cursing at the kitchen, sometimes scrubbing stains from the walls, sometimes with lumpy cookies and half-hard bars of brownies set out on the counter, sometimes with dinner simmering on the stove. So many good days, when Cain first came to live with me.

One Sunday he decided to bake a cake, some circular thing that was mostly rum. While it was baking he wandered into the shower with me, set the oven timer down on the counter but we didn’t hear it. Only heard the smoke alarm, the shrill panicked screeching, with Cain hilted in my ass and going quick, me getting close and mewling into shower spray, and then everything falling apart, everything just the shrill smoke alarm. The smell of the cake burning, Cain locked up with fear, me trying to race around the kitchen naked wet and dripping. I burned my fingers on the cake pan, shrieked about it, turned around to find Cain coming at me, yelling for Abel to run.

Later, blood on my face, sobbing, cringing, trying to fend Cain off without hurting him, all because of a stupid burnt cake. He snapped out of it, saw the bruises all over my face. I’ll never be able to forget his look of horror, the utter hatred of that moment. I tried to tell him it was okay, tried to make it be okay, but he got dressed in a hurry, left. Only came back when I called him crying a few days later, a tube of concealer in the trashcan.  

Now he’s back again, months and months after the last time I could call him. No explanation for why he left, no explanation for why he’s back. He wants me to make pancakes, so I guess that’s what I’ll do. I don’t know what else to do. I find the recipe and gather up all the ingredients. I’m counting the strokes under my breath, whisking the batter smooth, when Cain slips up next to me.

His hand goes over mine against the bowl, against the whisk. I can feel the sharp point of his earring against the side of my neck before he’s just a hush of breath against my jaw, kind of kissing me, kind of speaking. “I can’t do this, Ethan.”

I swallow, lose count, my hands falling still beneath him. I know what he means even though I don’t want to, even though I want to feign ignorance and pretend everything’s okay. It’s not. He’s been gone for a year, back just as suddenly, still jumping at shadows and looking tense.

“Twenty-five,” he says. His hand forces mine into a circle, forces the whisk through the batter. “Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight.” He pauses. “How many?”

“Just thirty,” I say. I can’t do more than whisper, my throat tight and thick with the urge to cry.

His hand tightens over mine, his whole body tight against mine. “Twenty-nine,” he says into my neck. He kisses behind my ear, slow, nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. “Thirty.”

I still can’t move, so he makes me set the bowl on the counter. He stays pressed against my back, wrapped over me with warmth, like all those nights racing up into the hills, more like a memory than something real.

I close my eyes and swallow again. I breathe deep, search out some calm center, and shift, shrugging him away just enough to scoop batter into the heated griddle. It starts to sizzle at once, bubbles appearing at the edges.

He lets me go, leans into the counter. It makes him look lazy, his leg, the way he can’t ever stand for too long, how he’s always leaning his weight against things. He watches me, I can feel his eyes on me. I stare at the pale circle of batter slowly turning golden at the edges. I set the spatula under the lip of the cooking pancake and test at it, carefully flip it over.

“Why did you leave?” I ask softly.

He doesn’t answer. I hear him adjust, knock his hip into the drawer pull so it rattles against the slides. I look over at him. He’s staring off again, across the open floor plan of the apartment to the balcony. Eyes so distant I don’t know what he sees. I wish I could be in his head for just a minute, just long enough to understand.

“I missed you,” I tell him. “Sacha… I missed you so much.”

He nods, just acknowledging it, like I’ve told him it’s raining or that we’re out of milk again.

I slide the golden-brown pancake on to a plate and scoop more batter on to the griddle. I try to stay calm, try not to cry, keep my voice level. “I’m glad you’re home. You being here – it’s good, Sacha. It’s so good to have you home. You can stay. I want you to stay.”

He talks slow, like the words are something he’s tried to think about until they turn easy, but he can’t make them easy. They’re awkward, fumbling out of him, limping through this conversation like he has to limp through everything else. “I can’t do this, Ethan. Guess I thought maybe I could, but I can’t.”

“Don’t say that.” I have to watch the batter cook, can’t let the edged turn brown and blacken. I can’t ruin these pancakes by burning them. I need them to be round, golden, perfect.

“It’s true.”

I wish he sounded sulky about it, I wish this was turning into a fight. I wish he still had fight left him him, but he doesn’t. He just sounds drained, exhausted, flattened out. He’s so thin now, so worn looking, pinched under his eyes like bruises so I know he wasn’t taking care of himself for the past year, didn’t have anyone taking care of him. I am so scared.

“Hey,” I say. “Sacha, please don’t talk like that. Everything will be fine, now that you’re back. You’ll see. Everything will be okay.”

He nudges at the bowl of pancake batter, doesn’t say anything. I finish cooking in silence, turn off the stove so nothing can burn. There’s a plate of perfectly golden pancakes waiting for him, but he doesn’t seem to care anymore. He looks so disconnected, so lost, leaned into the counter and staring at the floor, staring at nothing. Maybe staring at something I can’t see.

“Sacha?” I wash my hands and then dry them on a dishcloth. I clench the terry fabric in my hands before setting it aside, knotted my fingers around themselves instead. “Sacha, look at me.”

He doesn’t. Keeps his eyes down, not even glaring so my stomach turns to flutters. I breathe quick, try to stay calm, ask him it instead. “Sacha? Baby, look at me for a second.”

He drags his eyes up from the floor, reluctant, but his expression is like a slap to the face. I realize he’s serious and feel panicked, so scared, because he really doesn’t think he can do this anymore, and I don’t know what to do. He’s trying to ask me for help without really asking, and I’m so anxious, so scared, thinking that maybe I know why he came back so suddenly, thinking maybe I don’t know anything at all.

He isn’t trying to break up with me, he didn’t come all the way here to leave me, he wants to leave everything, _everything_ , so I don’t know why he came all the way back here to do it, just that he did, and I love him for it, but I am so scared because I don’t know what do.

“I made pancakes,” I tell him. I pick up the plate, show it to him, because I don’t know what else to do so the moment is almost hysterical, not funny in the least.

He looks at them, looks at the round, golden things I’m offering him. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

So I put the plate on the table, put another plate out for myself. I get the butter and syrup out, set them on the table as well while Cain limps over, slow about it, worse than usual or maybe I’ve just forgotten. He grips the back of the chair and then slides into the seat, slow and careful, leg sticking out in a way that’s awkward.

I sit next to him, perched on the end of my chair. We eat in silence. He looks at his food, doesn’t really look at anything, just looks lost and confused so I feel like crying. I don’t know what to do. I want to ask him everything about what happened, what he was doing for a year, what he means when he says he can’t do this anymore. I don’t say anything. I just eat pancakes with too much syrup until I feel sick.

Later he goes out on the balcony. Doesn’t say a word, just goes out there and leans against the rail. I watch him for a moment, watch him tap out a cigarette and start to smoke. I put the dishes away, run the disposal quickly, load up the washer and set it to run. I put my hands against the edge of the sink, bow my head, and cry.

He’s still out on the balcony when I suck it together, slap some sense into myself. I wash my face, dry my eyes, and go talk to him. I knock lightly on the glass door, wait for him to acknowledge me and kind of shrug about it. The balcony is his place, we both know that, or at least I’ve always tried to make it like that for him, made it so he can feel safe out here.

He snubs out the cigarette and then waves a bit at the haze of smoke. It’s a sweet, silly gesture, because he knows I don’t like the smell. I stay against the glass to give him space, because he seems tense still. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what to say, but I have to say something. I have to try and reach him, pull him back. I have to fix this like I said I would.

He speaks first, catches me off guard with it. “I got your messages.”

“What?”

“When you called. After I left.” He looks out over the lake, staring like he does, dark eyes somber, too serious so it makes him seem strange, so it scares me. “I listened to them.”

I barely remember what I said anymore, it was so long ago. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair, so for a moment he just looks so young again, a dangerous, terrifying, irresistible fighter who bites a scar into me, shows me something nice that’s like an addiction, holds me afterward and smirks, so pleased with himself. He doesn’t look pleased with himself now, he looks miserable, so lonely even though I’m right here. It’s just a single step between us, but it might as be the entire stretch of the solar system.

He folds his arms over the rail, sets his forehead down on them. I see the way his fingers curl, clench, and then I hear it a few seconds later, somewhere in the distance, the whirring buzz of a weed-whacker, the apartment maintenance crews getting to work. It makes his shoulders tense, he doesn’t like the sound, and I don’t blame him.

“Let’s go inside,” I say. He doesn’t move, doesn’t budge. “Cain? Come inside with me.”

“Ethan, I can’t,” he says. “Ethan, I can’t do this.”

Desperate, like he’s drowning, so it pulls me off the glass, drags me over to where he’s leaned against the rail. I run my fingers through his hair, rub my hand over his back, feel the tension, the shiver-fine way that he’s shaking. I fold over him, not really putting my weight on him, but trying to hug him anyway, wanting to feel him against me.

“You can,” I tell him. “Sacha, you can do this. I’ll help you. It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Please, don’t give up. Don’t—“ I have to stop quick, stop before I start to cry. I bite my lip, over the scar. I kiss the back of his neck and hold my lips there, whisper into his sweat-slicked skin. “Everything will be okay. Just stay with me. Let me help you.”

I don’t think it’ll work, but it does. I feel him nod, slow, tentative, so I can’t tell if he’s agreeing or just surrendering, if it’s not even worth it for him to fight, if there’s any fight left in him at all. He lets me take him by the hand and pull him inside, off the balcony, away from the harsh sounds. I get him into the apartment where it’s safer, where it’s quieter, where I can sit close to him on the sofa. Just sit with him, pressed against his side, feeling his bad leg jittery against my thigh. It’s quiet, at least, even if he’s still so tense. I tell him that I love him, that everything will be okay, but he’s looking off somewhere else with an unfocused look, nodding at my words without hearing them, and I just don’t know what else to do. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Hear him on the phone Sunday. Been back two days and he’s already trying to get rid of me. Must think I’m still on the balcony, must not realize that if I stand outside the office door I can hear him talking, hushed up and quiet, knows he’d be in trouble if I knew. Calling my sister, telling her where I am, asking questions without getting the answers he wants.

“No,” he says. “You know he won’t. … No, absolutely not, I just got him back. I couldn’t do that to him. … He isn’t – it’s not like that. He wouldn’t hurt me. He’s your brother, don’t—“

Sounding angry now, frustrated, Natasha and I never really got along as kids but she’s the only person in the family I want anything to do with ever so I guess she’s the one he calls. Went once to visit her after I was discharged. Only stayed one night. Tram goes by her shitty colony hovel all hours. Shakes the walls, rattles the cabinets, sends her stupid worthless brother to the floor.

Him again, speaking quietly but not quiet enough, still can hear him even though I don’t really want to, just can’t make myself walk away. “I only wanted to let you know he’s okay, that he’s home now. … What? My place – _our_  apartment. This is his home. … Mhm, yeah. Texted him earlier, you know how he is about calling. Okay. Okay. Sure, Natasha. I’ll tell him.”

But he won’t, he’s a liar, comes out later to find me sitting on the balcony right where he left me. Doesn’t say anything about my sister, doesn’t tell me to call her. Acts like nothing’s wrong, that he’s not off asking everyone for help because it’s been two days and already I have to leave again.

Don’t leave, stay. Don’t know why. Not doing anyone any good, not doing any good. Sit on the balcony, smoke, guess I should go buy liquor if I want to drink. Go inside and Abel’s pretending to read a book, watching me without seeming like he is, sits up a bit straighter when I start for the door. Asks where I’m going, doesn’t get an answer beyond a shrug, so he comes after me. Tell him I’m going to the store. He comes after me anyway.

Start walking. Don’t want to take the bike even though he offers. Keep walking. He follows. He’s barefoot. Don’t realize it until we’re halfway to the store. Get afraid he’ll cut his feet on broken glass, get afraid he’ll stub his toe, get afraid when a car cuts us off at the crosswalk. Grab Abel a bit rough, scares him, can see he’s scared with how big his eyes get, how he tenses for a moment and then goes passive, unresisting.

Stand there on the sidewalk holding Abel against my racing heart. Nothing to be scared of except me. He tries to tell me it’s okay, always been a shitty liar. Let him go, don’t want him scared anymore. Dip down a little, kneel despite the fire in my leg, the way it cocks out to the side like it’s trying to bail on everything, like it’s that easy to quit.

Try to get him on my back, he doesn’t understand, tell him what I want and he refuses. Tell him, “You forgot your fucking shoes, princess. Hop up.”

He hesitates, touches at my arm. “Sacha, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stop being fucking stubborn,” I tell him.

“No,” he says.

Glare at him, get real angry and don’t know why. “Come here, Ethan.” Change tactics, grab for his arms.

He dodges out of the way. “No, you can’t carry me. I’m too heavy.”

“No, you’re not.” Fucked him standing up enough times to know it, carried him to bed enough times. Not as much since the accident, got a bad leg now. Stubborn about it, come after him, knock his knees out and pull him up against my chest.

Can’t believe he’s fucking right, can’t believe this is a strain, can’t believe I can’t even hold him anymore. He used to put his arms around my neck, used to fold himself into my shoulder, used to laugh about it when I’d scoop him up on lazy days and carry him somewhere soft.

Not laughing now, sounding scared again, always so scared and about to cry because of me, because I scare him. “Sacha, put me down!”

Bad leg doesn’t like this, arms don’t like this, can’t believe I’m so fucking weak I can’t even hold him. Can’t keep him safe.

Softer now, less panicked, guess he figured out I was just trying to help. “Sacha, please, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Let him go, let him drop back down, stare at him like I’ve never seen him before. He’s looking back at me with concern, hands on my arms. His stupid bare feet, my navigator being scatterbrained, the hot sidewalk and him walking with me anyway. Follow me anywhere, everywhere, but I’m not the navigator, not supposed to lead. Supposed to fight. Need to fight for him, can’t fight for himself, he’s broken now and won’t stop crying, won’t stop looking scared.

“Cain?” he asks.

Guess I stared too long. Have to say, “Yeah.”

He looks nervous, scared, so fucking sick of him looking scared. “Do you want to go home now?”

“Yeah.”

Turn around and let him lead, let him navigate. Still barefoot but I guess that’s okay, don’t know what else I’m suppose to do about it, guess I’m suppose to fight. Can’t fight anymore. Don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that. Follow him all the way back to the apartment, only remember I forgot to get any whisky when I’m sitting on the balcony smoking. Sit outside smoking, he won’t follow me out here, just sits around where he can watch me through the glass, so it’s like I’m not really back at all, him just sitting, me just smoking. Guess I’m not really back at all, two days in already needing to leave.

Gets dark, gets cold, late spring on Earth. Used to the colonies now, dependable like that. Smoke the rest of the pack, don’t have anything, just sit there. Look at the stars. Seems like fewer than before, guess there’s more lights on the other side of the lake. Some new building, new lights, bright fucking city lights bleeding out the stars from the sky.

He comes looking for me. Sitting right where he last saw me, don’t know why he looks so anxious about it. Scratches at the glass so I look at him. He smiles, so worried and scared, but he holds up his motorcycle helmet. Offering to take me up into the hills. Been awhile. Been a long while.

Look back at the stars, just sitting there. He doesn’t like that, slides the door open a little. “Sacha?” he asks quietly. Quiet like he’s scared. Want him to stop looking so scared. Going crazy because of how he looks. Feeling like I ought to be up in the stars again, ought to leave. Don’t know what else to do.

“Sacha, it’s late. Do you want to come to bed?”

Guess I should, guess he’s right, guess it’s getting cold. He’s cold, he’s barefoot again. Want to ask if he owns shoes, snap it at him snarky so it makes him smile. Don’t, just follow him, let him lead. He’s the navigator, navigating me to a sink, talking at me about something. Brush my teeth with him in there, him brushing as well. He bends over to rinse and spit. Used to nestle into his ass when he did that, grind at him and laugh, make him laugh sometimes, make him get doe-eyed and slutty sometimes. Don’t this time. Just wait until he moves, finish getting ready.

Guess he’s asking me questions. Guess I’m supposed to answer. Don’t, just sit on the bed, wait for him to get the lights. Get into bed. Lay there. Shadows over the ceiling. Look at them. Feel him up against me. Cold toes and jutting knees, awkwardly getting up close, pressing into me, skinny and scared and perfect.

Quiet for a while. Feel his hand move over my chest, feel his body flex into mine. Feel the little press of him, the way he slides at me, the way he kisses my neck, whispers at me. Telling me something we both already know. Asking me something he should already know. Don’t say anything back, wouldn’t have come back if I didn’t, maybe shouldn’t have come back because I do.

Not so quiet a bit later. Cold and wet against my neck, small hitches in his breath, his hands curling into me. Guess he’s scared again. Scared for me. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I take off work on Monday to stay home with Cain. I don’t know what else to do, but I’m terrified to let him out of my sight. I’m scared that if I look away, he’ll be gone when I look back. Everything about him being in the apartment, him being here with me, it feels fragile, like I could lose it all at any moment. It’s a sensation like bobbing in the ocean, too tired to swim, trying to stay afloat, trying to keep breathing. We’re drowning, Cain and I, so slowly that it frightens me, but I don’t know what to do.

Cain’s sister told me to send him back to the veteran’s hospital, where he was living before I went to get him. I couldn’t do that to Cain, I just couldn’t, he hated it there, I know he did. He hates hospitals, always so fussy about it, like after we were both hurt on the mission, when Cain’s leg first started to go bad, he kept trying to smoke in medical and they wouldn’t let him.

I have to help Cain, I just don’t know how. There isn’t anyone I trust. Natasha, she’s so colonial, so thoroughly hardened by a hard life, she just doesn’t understand. My parents exist in a state of constant disapproval regarding Cain, and I already lied to my father once about why I wanted his help getting Cain discharged.

I told him that Cain was just a war buddy, my old fighter, maybe he needed a place to stay, maybe he didn’t have anyone else to spend Christmas with so I’d stay here with him. They showed up as a surprise, brought a gift for my roommate, found out we only had the one bed, saw the way that Cain couldn’t keep hands off me. I guess it was easier than having to tell them, having to explain to my mother why I hadn't found some nice girl to settle down with. I haven’t told them yet that Cain’s back.

Mother acted sweet about it, trying to comfort me just the same as when Stacey Green broke up with me in the tenth grade, but I can just see her lips press together, the thin sort of way she always gets when I talk about Cain, when she has to think about her dear, sweet son living with some rough colonial gypsy. Father would just prefer I not live with another man at all, but my father would just prefer a lot of things be different about me, so I don’t take it personally anymore.

I texted Deimos a bit. He doesn’t like to talk on the phone anymore than he likes to talk in person, though, and we’ve never really gotten along on account of Cain. It was easier before, but then again, a lot of things were easier before.

I don’t mind that it’s hard for me. I don’t mind that at all, I just hate that things have to be so hard for Cain. He has a new scar, I saw it when he was changing, some terrible pale rope of scar lashed over his ribs. And, his ribs, all his bones, they jut too much into the skin, like he hasn’t eaten for a year and I’m terrified that’s close to the truth. He wasn’t taking care of himself, I know that, I know it so deep it hurts, and I almost wish he’d just broken up with me and gone off to be happy with someone else. I wish the whole miserable year never happened, that I’d wake up tomorrow on a good day like we had before. I’d wake up back on the Sleipnir if I could, maybe try to stop whatever happened to Cain to make him like this.

He catches me crying. I hadn’t wanted him to see, gone into the office to pretend to do work, sat at my desk and indulged myself in messy weeping. I didn’t hear him come in, didn’t notice at all until he’s kneeling next to me, putting his arms around my waist, putting his head into my lap. Not saying a word, just being breathtakingly sweet about it. The angle’s bad on his leg, so I have to stop, make him settle more comfortably.

We sit next to the desk, almost under it, his arm around my shoulders. Not saying a word, he hasn’t said anything since he tried to go to the store, tried to carry me home and couldn’t. He just sits quietly, blank eyed so it scares me, so beaten and miserable. I hate it. I hate everything so intensely that I sob with furious determination, angry like some stupid kid throwing a temper tantrum.

I know this isn’t helping, I know it’s probably making Cain upset to see me like this. I should be happy that he’s here – I am, I am happy, I’m so happy that Cain’s home, I missed him so much, I love him so much, I was so scared for him to be gone – but I should show him that, stop crying, stop tiptoeing around the apartment jumping at shadows.

He takes my face in his hands and turns me to him. He kisses me, soft but insistent, pressing his lips to mine with terrible sweetness. He moves slow, seeming cautious, seeming to actually look at me but maybe it’s wishful thinking. We make love there on the office floor, next to the chair and almost under the desk. My face is still streaked with tears, my heart slow and filled with sorrow, so it’s strange and terrible, wonderful and sweet.

His bad leg’s jittery, worse than usual, so I ride him, get on top and flex into him with my hips. No weight on his leg this way, no need for him to strain himself. He works his hands into my thighs, curls his lips into almost a snarl, urges me faster and then slower, takes control and sets the pace until it’s over, until I’m huddled into him and wanting to cry again. He strokes my hair. I press my ear into his chest to hear his heartbeat, hard and thumping.

Later, once we’ve gone to bed, I listen to his heartbeat again, how it’s slow and steady. I whisper to him that I love him. He doesn’t say it back, he never does.

What he does say, however, is a bit more startling. “Sorry for leaving.”

I have to swallow, struggle to keep my voice level. I can see the outline of him in the soft darkness, the gleam of his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling. Not seeing anything in the shadows, or maybe seeing everything in them. I say, “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah,” he says. Sighs it, like it hurts him, like he’s something heavy he has to force out.

I settle into his shoulder, curl my whole body into him. “Love you,” I say again. I try not to say it too much, because he never says it back, because it makes him look uncomfortable when I say it. It’s just I don’t know what else to say, what else I can possibly say to him. My breath becomes unsteady, hitching.

He moves toward me, turns on his side and gathers me into his arms. I feel his lips in my hair. He speaks softly, gently scolding me. “Stop crying, Abel. Fucking hate it when you cry.”

I close my eyes, feel him pressed against me. “I know,” I say.

“Then cut it out. Tired of you crying all the time.”

“Okay,” I say. “I won’t cry anymore.”

 “I’ll keep you safe, princess. Get you out of this and show you something nice.”

I don’t know which of us is the bigger liar. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Find him waiting for me on the sofa, sitting square-shouldered and serious, a little folder of papers in his lap. Limping in from the balcony, ran out of smokes but can’t walk to the store to get more, leg hurts, hard enough just to get off the balcony.

Everything hurts, feeling rundown, guess it’s a bad day, up all night jumping at nothing, chased Abel into the office again three days ago. Woke up pounding on the door, Abel crying on the other side, trying to tell me he’s Abel, trying to make sense of that, he’s just some scared, pretty blond named Ethan. Hated it, tried to leave, he raced me to the lobby using the stairs. Couldn’t go after that, not with Abel latched around my waist, not with him getting so scared, crying so hard.

Don’t want to think about it, don’t like it, sit out on the balcony since nothing’s changed. Spent a year doing nothing but putting fear in his eyes, breaking him. Hate that I came back, want to leave but can’t, stuck doing the same thing. Don’t leave the apartment, ask him to bring home cigarettes, know it’s bad that he does. Tried to get me to quit once, doesn’t try anymore, got an apartment with a balcony.

He’s looking at me, sitting, serious so I want to leave. Don’t, too tired, need to sit down. Leg hurts. Tripped last night, jumping at shadows, went down hard and scared us both. Rolled around cussing about it. Abel got me a heating pad, called from work to remind me to use it. Sit on the other end of the sofa. Slow, having to grip the arm, leg going jittery.

“Sacha,” he says. Lips pressed together so the cute little scar flares. Stare at it. Think about putting it there. Think about the first time I fucked him, how he scratched my ass and came hard. Hurts my chest, don’t like thinking about Abel, can’t stop thinking about Abel. Blood and smoke, hearing him scream, leg—

“Sacha? Hey. Do you have a minute?”

Awkward, slow, bad news to make a bad day worse. Don’t know what the fuck he thinks I’m doing with my time otherwise. Don’t say that. Just look at him.

He looks down. Fiddles with the pen in his hands. Opens the folder and shuffles at the papers without changing the order. He scoots closer. “Sacha, will you sign this?”

Offers it at me, don’t know what it is. Can guess, not stupid, guess he’s getting rid of me. Guess that’s okay. Hurts, everything hurts, hate it, get mad but can’t fight. Look at the papers. He presses the pen into my hand, presses close to me, sets his lips into my shoulder.

“Please just sign it,” he says. Whispering it at me, thick sounding. Don’t want him to cry, can’t do this if he cries.

Don’t say anything. Just stare at the papers. Head down, shoulders tight.

“Sacha…” Nervous, twisting his hands together, close up against my side and scared. “Sacha, I can’t—I don’t know what else to do, please. Baby, please, you need… help.”

Chest tight, don’t like him being scared, don’t like feeling scared, don’t know what’s going on, think maybe I missed something, maybe I’m missing some pieces to a puzzle. Don’t even have all the pieces, don’t know why there’s a pen in my hand, this pretty young blond pressed up against me and trying not to cry and failing.

Starts to cry, voice shaky, eyes wet, being quiet about it. “You’re getting worse, baby, I’m so sorry, please don’t get upset, but you are. But you can do this, I know you can, you just need to – Sign this, okay? I’ll be able to get you help this way. Just sign it, Sacha, please. Please do this for me.”

Stare at the papers. Little colored tabs on the sides marking where I need to sign. He’s already signed it. Pretty handwriting, looping through the E in his name. Focus on the paper he put on top, stare at the words across the top.

“What is this?” Voice scratchy, haven’t said anything in a while, smoked too much too fast.

Calms him down a little because I’m not yelling, not angry, just upset because I can’t understand what the fuck he’s doing handing me this shit. He says, “It’s just a formality.”

Stare at the papers more because I can’t understand them. Ruffle them a little. Few more colored tabs on the other pages. Understand the others a bit better. Don’t see the one I think I’ll see, don’t see the words I’m dreading. No intake forms, just silly HR shit from work, legal forms. Less scared, confused, he’s already signed everything, filled everything out.

Stare at him instead of the forms. “Why?”

“Because it’s expensive otherwise,” he says. Trying to sound practical. Stare at him more, so he drops his eyes and turns pink-cheeked and beautiful, not crying but still soft. Bet it’ll all melt if I kiss him, he’s so soft when I kiss him after he cries. “Because I love you.”

Look back down at the paper. Don’t know what to say. Can feel him waiting on me, can feel how nervous he is, can feel how scared he is. Don’t want him being scared anymore, hate it. Guess he wants me to fight for him again. He’s doing his part, navigating like I need him to, guess I better fight even though it’s hard, hurts.

Set my shoulder into him, less tense, surprised I’m this tense, there’s this much tension to let go. Tap the pen at the paper. “Shit kind of proposal,” I say.

Feel him flush, see him get pinkish and soft. Looks cute doing it. “It’s just a formality.”

“Fuck that.” Push the papers back at him. See the way his face crumples, the way his fingers curl over the folder, the little devastated sink of him into the cushions. Start to slide from the sofa, leg jittery, hurts and aches like fire.

Makes him pat his hands at me, fluttery and anxious, “Oh, your leg—“

He’s right, it’s a dumb thing I’m doing. Doing it anyway, don’t care. Stubborn. He grabs my arm to help me, try to keep me balanced, the papers nearly go into the floor but he snatches them back. Staring at me, looking like I haven’t seen in a while, not so scared anymore, kind of brilliant with it. Guess he’s figured out what I’m trying to do.

Trembling from the strain but did it, fucking did it, stupid shit life when my only accomplishment in weeks is getting to one fucking knee and saying, “Ethan, will you?”

See his mouth tremble so he has to clench it shut, swallow hard, face so soft and still flushed, eyes shining because they’re wet. “Yes, of course. It was my idea.”

“Then you get on your fucking knee.” Try to push back to the sofa, kind of fuck it up, the papers go to the floor as he snatches at me, helps me get seated next to him.

He gathers them all back up, quickly, trembling but don’t think it’s because he’s scared anymore. Forgot what he looks like happy. Better than I remember. Been a while. “It’s just – you can be on my insurance this way, and—“

Not graceful with it, he tries to turn to me the same time I go after him. Heads together, noses bumping, teeth clicking as I kiss him. Soft. He’s soft. Melted like it’s nice, hate seeing him cry but like kissing him after, like the little noise he makes, the smallness from his throat that might be tears again but better. Forgot what he looks like happy. Like it. Been telling me he’s happy I’m back but not looking it, just looking scared.

Brush my fingers into his hair, curl a caress behind his ear with it. One of those moments that belongs on the wall, picture kind of perfect. Guess I’m the one scared, guess that’s okay, not sure what he’s doing but trust him, trust my navigator. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

It’s a lot of awkwardness getting everything in order. I take the next morning off from work so I can take Cain to turn in the legal forms. They let me take the form without Cain being there, but he has to show up in person with a photo ID before they’ll process it. I’m nervous, because he hasn’t left the apartment in a while. I remember he used to be tense if we took the bike out during the day, and he hasn’t wanted to ride at night either, so I arrange for a cab, think maybe that’ll be better.

I’m afraid he’ll get offended, figure out what I’m thinking, so thank God it starts to rain. No need to make excuses, no need to hurt his feelings. I can tell he’s nervous anyway, but it’s a good day, or an okay day I guess, he slept through the night and looks at me more, looks at me so I know he’s actually seeing me. I think it’s a weight off both our shoulders to be doing something about this, to start moving forward.

I haven’t pressed the issue of him getting help – going to therapy – since I first brought it up, asked him to sign the papers, but he signed everything know what I was asking. Didn’t question me about getting help, just asked if I was sure about making it legal between us.

It’s not very romantic, just a formality like I said, making us domestic partners because Mother would die and roll over in her grave if I dared to do anything else without telling her, without letting her coordinate place settings and monogram everything in sight. I thought about it at first, talked to a nice, sympathetic lady at the county clerk’s office about my options. Easier this way, less paperwork, still lets me list Cain on my insurance. The veteran’s fund paid for his hospital stay after he crashed the bike, and they’d probably stick him with a therapist easy enough, but I want options, I want the best for Cain.

I guess I’m a little excited about it anyway, I guess I keep thinking about the strange look on Cain’s face, the stubborn way he got on one knee for me. Guess I’m a silly romantic after all. I’m just happy he seems a little better now, a little more grounded, that he’s agreed to go talk to someone about all the things he can’t tell me, about all the things I can’t begin to understand. I hope it helps. I guess that’s what’s making me happy, feeling hopeful about something.

We make it to the clerk’s office okay, turn in the papers and let the nice ladies congratulate us. Cain looks surly about it, glaring at everything and everyone, and it makes them nervous at first until they see him hold the door for me even though he’s got that terrible limp.

He wants to get lunch afterward, complains about there not being anything to eat at the apartment, but I wonder if he’s feeling it too, feeling like we ought to celebrate even though it’s just a silly formality. I’m nervous, though, too worried that a waiter might drop a tray of dishes, that someone will order a flambé, that someone will squeeze too close to the back of my chair, that any small disaster might happen even without a trigger. It’s a good day, I want to keep it that way, so I make it excuses about getting back to work.

I promise to come home early, bring home a bottle of wine when I do. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, can’t tell what he means by limping out on to the balcony without saying anything. It makes me worried, makes me anxious, makes me feel like an idiot for thinking a stupid piece of paper will really make a difference. I’m almost too worried to leave again, anxious all over like the first few days I had Cain back, when I kept using up sick leave because I was just so scared.

I guess he’s sulking, maybe figured out my flimsy excuses. I’m reluctant to leave but I do, I go to work, I turn in the rest of the papers to the woman in human resources, so it’s a bit awkward when she refers to Sacha as a _she_ and I refer to Sacha as a _he_. And I don’t think he’ll be coming to the next happy hour to meet everyone, so that’s a bit awkward as well, but she tries to fumble through it. Gossips about it, probably against company policy, but by the end of the day people are stopping by my desk to just smile awkwardly and leave again.

I stop and get a bottle of wine like I promised, leave the office early so I have plenty of time. He’s on the balcony when I get home, but he comes inside before I’ve finished getting dinner put together, leans against the table to watch me put it on plates.

I open the bottle of wine – I got one with a metal twist-off cap, rather than a cork, for obvious reasons – but Cain suddenly says, “Don’t.”

I stop, bottle frozen over the glass. “What?”

He’s not looking at me, he’s looking off at the balcony, or I guess not looking at anything. “Let’s go riding tonight.”

“Oh,” I say. “All right.”

“Don’t have to,” he says. Sullen about it, so it worries me, makes me screw the cap back on the bottle.

“No, it’s fine. I’d like to.”

Cain takes the wine from me, sits down at the table. He doesn’t look at me, and doesn’t use a glass, so I’m a bit horrified on a manners level watching him drink the wine straight from the bottle. I’m mostly worried because I think he’s upset. I don’t know what’s happened, what I’ve done wrong or what’s gone wrong. I pick at my food, too nervous to eat, stealing looks at Cain while he drains the wine.

Maybe it was just too much to hope a silly bit of paper would help fix things. I’ll have to talk to him about therapy, make sure he’s really willing to go, figure out some way to get him there and back – so many things to talk to him about, but I’m just silent, picking at my dinner, watching Cain drink too much. It’s all so frustrating after getting my hopes up, getting to where I was being an idiot. I try not to be upset, try not to let it bother me, because this still isn’t a bad day. Compared to most days this is a good one.

Cain sits at the table to keep drinking as I clear the dishes, scrape my mostly untouched dinner into the sink and make a mental note to run the disposal later. I take my time with it, putting away the leftovers, washing the copper cook pans by hand. I let the hour linger into darkness, until the stars are out so I can take him out on the bike, take him up into the curving switchbacks and go just a bit too fast around the turns.

I dry my hands, tell Cain, “Give me just a minute.” I go change my clothes, something warmer against the wind since it’s cool out, get into the green and white motorcycle jacket that I know Cain likes to see me wear.

He’s moved back out on to the balcony. With the bottle of wine on the table next to him, most of it gone at this point. As I watch he drains the last of it, drops the butt of his cigarette into the empty bottle. Just sitting there, so I’m not sure at all what to do. Maybe he just wanted to smoke a bit before we left. He’s considerate about not smoking around me, knows I don’t like the smell. Except I like the way it makes Cain smell sometimes, I like the realness of the acrid smoke, the way it clings into his hair, makes places in the apartment smell like him.

I sit on the sofa and pretend to fiddle with my helmet by opening and closing the visor. Every so often I look to the balcony, but Cain stays out there. He’s not even smoking now, he’s just sitting there. I go to the kitchen and run the garbage disposal, unload the dishwasher. I run out of things to do to look busy, so I just sit again, sit inside and watch Cain. Finally I can’t stand it anymore, I go over and tap at the glass. I offer a little smile at him, trying to seem apologetic about bothering him. I lift my helmet like he doesn’t know what I want.

It works, or at least he gets out of his chair. It looks difficult, lots of pauses and pushing at the arms of the chair, grabbing at the rail with his leg held out stiff. I wonder if he’s unsteady from the wine or if that’s just his limp.

I step back a little when he slides back the glass and comes inside. “Ready?” I ask.

He shakes his head and drags himself through the apartment by grabbing various things – my arm, the back of the sofa, so by the time he runs out of furniture and reaches the wall I’ve started after him, gotten myself wedged under his shoulder to help brace him.

“Sacha? What’s wrong?” This is more than just the wine, I think, that’s making it so hard for him to walk like this. The other night he took a bad fall, so I know it’s been bothering him more since then. I’m starting to get worried he may have hurt something, pulled a muscle.

“Nothing,” he says. Mumbles it, really, but that is the wine slurring his voice.

“Do you still want to go riding?” I ask. If I can get him downstairs and on the bike it’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. I’ll drive the motorcycle all the way into the lobby if I have to, right up to the elevator. He won’t have to walk far, and then I can take him fast through the turns so he’ll lean into me, set his cheek into my shoulder. Last year, before he left, he seemed to like it, liked the nights we’d go out riding. It seemed to help.

“No,” he says.

I persist, hesitant since I don’t want to offend him. “Is your leg bothering you?”

“S’fine.” He tries to drag the both of us toward the hall, but it’s a strange kind of staggering. I’m suddenly aware of how terribly easy it is hold him up like this, how thin and worn he’s become over the last year.

I walk him toward the bedroom, let him veer us in that direction. He ends up on the bed, sprawled out and kind of groaning about it, leg stiff and awkward as he rolls around trying to get comfortable. I help him a little, getting his shoes off, and I know it’s bad that he lets me, doesn’t snap at me that he can do it, to stop coddling him.

“I’ll get the heating pad,” I tell him. I take off my motorcycle jacket on the way out to the living room and back. I find the heating pad wedged into the sofa cushions and hurry back to Cain with it, find him wedged half under the pillows on his stomach, good leg bent toward him, bad leg out straight. I unplug my bedside lamp and stick the heating pad’s plug into the socket instead. The cord barely reaches as I crawl to Cain. “Here, Sacha, I’ll just—“

“Fuck off.” His voice is muffled because he’s buried under the pillows.

I don’t take it personally, just carefully slide the pad under Cain’s leg, up against his thigh where the scarring’s the worse, where the muscle twists and the bone is shattered, held together with rods and pins.

He swats at me with a pillow. “Said fuck off, Abel!”

I overreact entirely considering it’s just a pillow. It’s not really a scream, not really anything, just some horribly panicked gasp that ends up being high-pitched. I try to get out of the way, scramble around like I’m expecting worse than a pillow. I think he tries to check the gesture, maybe realizes a half-second too late what’s happening, but he tries to roll upright at the same time I try to get out of the way, and there’s a lot of awkward limbs and – and I lose my balance, fall on Cain. On his leg, elbow first, the joint of it pressing into him and, it’s awful, it’s so awful, because he screeches like a cat with a stepped on tail.

“FUCK!” And he starts to gasp, quick and desperate in a way that says I’ve really hurt him, that he’s hurting. He rolls over himself, writhing and cursing in between all the choking breaths. Half of it’s in Russian, but I’ve been around Cain long enough to recognize the profanities. 

I don’t even know what to do, and it’s terrible that my first instinct is to get away, tumble right off the bed in a panic. I stammer at him, fumble over my tongue. “Oh, God! Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“Nnng!” He claws his hands into the blankets, snarling like some poor wounded animal, and it’s just so awful. I’m tensed to run, not at all sure what he’s thinking, if he’s even thinking, if the pain has triggered something or if I’m overreacting again.

I wring my hands together, hover somewhere between the bed and the door. “Cain, you’re okay, please – Cain, I’m so sorry.”

He’s so tense, shaking about it, teeth grit against more cursing and failing at it. “Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, fuck – shit, Ethan. Ethan—?“ Hands knotting into the blankets, looking around for me, so I rush at the bed, don’t want him to know what I was thinking, how scared I felt.

I don’t want to touch him for fear of making it worse, but I’m equally too anxious to stay away, so I just kind of wave my hands around helplessly. “How bad is it? I’m so sorry. Are you going to be all right? Oh, God, I’m so—“

“S’fine!” He snaps it at me with enough heat and fury that it actually calms me down. He’s starting to calm down as well, still breathing fast but shaking less, loosening his hold on the blankets. “It’s fine,” he says again, clearer this time. And, under his breath, “Son of a _bitch_.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I say. Small voiced about it, I can’t help but cringe.

“No shit,” he says. He rolls on to his back and reaches down, massages at his leg with a grimaced hissing. He draws a curse out into the hiss, long and agonized, “Shit!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing. You didn’t do it on purpose, so just shut the fuck up.” He rubs at his thigh harder. “Nng – FUCK! Shut up!” He puts his arms up over his face, rolls around some without actually going anywhere across the bed, so it would almost be comical if not for the fact I can see he’s hurting, that I’ve hurt him terribly, that his leg was already bothering him but now I’ve made it worse.

“Sacha, I’m—“ I swallow another apology, creep closer to him on the bed. “Can I do anything? Do you need anything?”

He doesn’t say anything at first, tight and curled over the pain, hiding his face from me until he goes lax, lets his hands fall into the bedding. He stares up at the ceiling, brow tight and eyes somewhat blank, somewhat lazy, a bit drunk but mostly wounded, in pain because I’ve been clumsy and hurt him.

“No,” he says. Sullen again, sulky, depressingly flat.

I edge a bit closer, just barely set my hand on him. “Do you want me to—?”

He turns his head to the side. “Tch!” Sharp and spikey, face tightened up, shoulders tense, but he lets me, lets me cautiously rub and massage at the aching muscles, the twisted agony. I think it’s helping, I think maybe it’s hurting him but in a good way, working out the stiffness, helping with the awkwardness. He braces his hands, puts his shoulders into the mattress, groans as I knead my hands into a particularly tight knot of muscle.

“Will you be all right?” I throw it out there hesitant, quiet, timid.

“Yeah,” he says. “Ah, fuck, there, that’s—“ He shudders, leg going jittery under my touch. I work at him, roll my hands into his thigh with gentle insistence, so he flinches and jumps, cursing under his breath. “Fuck, Ethan, stop—“

I do, I pull my hands away.

“No, Ethan, keep—“

I give my hands to him, dig into his leg with deep, rolling motions. He hisses and flinches, writhing in my hands, yelps profanity at me and arches his back. If I try to pull away he begs me back, snarls at me for leaving, until finally he rolls into me, knocks me over. Cain wraps himself around me with insistence, nuzzles his face into my hip. Knocks me into the pillows and keeps me there.

“S’fine now,” he says. He kisses at my knees, my thigh. Works his way up into my shoulder, so we’re curled into each other, everything calm again, feeling like maybe I can believe this is real. He mouths at my neck, folds into me, bad leg awkward and stiff but not in such a way that it worries me.

I rub my hands over his back, curl into him. “Sorry,” I say again. I can’t help myself, can’t stop myself, apologizing for a lot more than just being clumsy and he probably knows it.

I feel him shift against me, put an arm over my waist and tuck close into me. He’s silent for so long that I think he might have fallen asleep, succumbed to the wine at last.

It’s startling when he does speak. “S’just a fucking formality,” Cain snarls into my neck.

It doesn’t make any sense. Like, there are the parts of my life which are confusing, bewildering, and then there are the parts with Cain, the sections of my existence which are outside everything else. I’m not sure at all what he means, how we’ve landed into this tangent of conversation. “What?”

“Didn’t know they’d let two fags marry.” His teeth graze my skin, his hand slides up hot against where my heart is beating hard into my ribs.

I remember the stupid ladies at the clerk’s office, smiling and chatting, one of them teasing Cain about buying me a ring, saving up for “the big M” and whatever other garbage the nosy, airheaded idiots wanted to say. I feel like going back tomorrow and slapping sense into them, seething at them not to meddle, and I’m so mad that I forgot about what Cain’s just said, how he’s said it, bitter and disappointed, how he so stubbornly got on one knee for me.

“Sacha?” I turn into him, run my fingers through his hair. He stays pressed into me, idly chewing at the crook of my neck. “Sacha, did you _want_ to—“

“No.” He shoves at me, sits up with enough abruptness that it startles me, makes me flinch back. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

I’m alarmed by the tone, by the unsteady way he lurches toward the edge of the bed. I try to call him back. “Sacha? Sacha, I’m sorry, please—“

“Taking a fucking piss, Ethan. That okay?” He snips it at me, snarls it at me, cruel and vicious, but I guess I don’t really mind, guess it doesn’t bother me when he’s harsh.

I watch, concerned and trying to hide it, as he slides off the bed and doesn’t quite make it to his feet on the first try. It takes him some pushing at the mattress, some harsh angled leaning, muttered curses. His limp is terrible, to the bathroom and back, lingering to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. It prompts me to as well, to follow in after him, try not to look concerned at the difficult way he slumps around the sink, staggers back to the bed and falls into it, dragging his way into the center again.

I’m worried, so anxious, confused and whiplashed by his mood swings. I don’t know what else to do other than turn off the lights, put the heating pad away, crawl into bed with Cain. I give him some space, unsure of the situation. He slides over to me and sets his head into my shoulder, almost like an apology, not saying anything but I’m pretty sure that’s what he means with it.

And in the middle of the night when he wakes up, tense and panicked, shaking at me and telling me to run, to _get the fuck out, Abel, get out while you still can_ – I don’t. I stay there, tell him it’s okay, tell Cain that he’s safe, so I’m not sure if he believes me or just falls asleep again, rolling over and going still. I push up against his back, press my cheek into his shoulder, hold him fast around the turns. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Have to talk to a stranger once a week, Saturdays so Abel can drive me. Don’t like it. Guess I have to go. Don’t have to like it, just have to go, makes Abel happy if I go. Tell the guy that. Tell him this is fucking stupid, don’t want to be here, have nothing to say. He asks why I’m here and tell him it’s because of Abel. Motherfucker asks if I love Abel, so I punch him for it. Don’t have to go talk to him anymore.

Abel finds someone else, a lady with her hair in a knot who lets me sit there and smoke, not saying anything at first, start saying enough so she won’t rat me out to Abel. There’s an aquarium in the room, get to watch the fish, like the balcony view better.

One day a fish is dead when I get there, she hasn’t noticed it yet. Fucker just floating around with all its buddies, gets stuck in the thing that makes bubbles. Think it’s pretty funny. Point it out to her. End up helping her get rid of it, help her clean the aquarium afterward. Have to chase all the fucking fish down first, scoop them into little bowls so they won’t drown. Feels like shooting ‘Terons, just gotta aim right, get all those fish scooped into bowls to keep them safe.

She sends me home with one, some shiny fast thing that keeps going around in circles like it’s too stupid to know the bowl is round. Make Abel take me to the store. Buy a stupid fucking tiny pirate ship because it’s funny and get some colored rocks, get a bigger bowl.

Make Abel put it on the balcony when I go outside, make Abel take it back inside when I come inside. Don’t want to try lifting the bowl myself, it’s heavy and I might drop the damn thing. Make Abel put the fish on the dresser at night. Can’t tell what Abel’s thinking, giving me strange looks when I make him carry the fish around the apartment. Name the fish Reliant. Like that he goes around fast and flashy, always trying to get out of his bowl.

Tell the lady about the fish, talk to her about the stupid tiny pirate ship. Get shown how to mix the water with some chemicals so it doesn’t melt the fucking fish’s eyes or something, I don’t know, guess they’re fragile little fuckers like that. Tell her I named the fish Reliant, mention it’s after the ship. Makes her ask me about the Reliant, tell her to mind her own fucking business.

Next time bring her a picture, show her the Reliant, show her Abel in front of the Reliant smiling. Like the picture, took it myself, tell her that’s why I’m not in the photo. Get asked if I have any photos of myself from the war, don’t know the answer, have to ask Abel about it afterward. Makes him look nervous, sad, he has to crawl under the bed and pull out a shoebox.

All the pictures in the box are of me or me and him, all the pictures he used to have up around the apartment. Didn’t notice they were missing. Don’t know why I yell at Abel about it but I do. Get real mad about it, mad because I know why he took them all down. Sometimes we like to pretend I didn’t leave for a year, that last year never happened, so I’m mad about it, mad that this can’t be one of those times.

Go out on the balcony and smoke. Furious still, livid, want to go fight something but can’t, fight my lungs instead, burn them, smoke so fast it hurts. Abel brings the fish bowl out to me, but I yell at him until he leaves again. Sits in the living room with Reliant on the table in front of him. Abel looks at me through the glass like I’m the stupid fish in a bowl, swimming around all fast and flashy because I can’t see it’s round, can’t see I’m trapped. Have to stay in the bowl so I won’t drown. Come back inside, apologize to Abel without actually saying I’m sorry. Next day Abel puts all the pictures back up.

Take one with me, show her Abel in his uniform looking pretty, me just kind of scowling because Abel wouldn’t let me fuck him in the shower that morning. Didn’t want to be late. Don’t tell her that part, just show her the picture. Tell her she can keep it, put it next to the bed and rub one out thinking of two hot shots in uniform. She tells me her girlfriend might question her tastes. Don’t know what to say to that, just laugh.

Make her go get a picture of the girlfriend, some square thing with square glasses but I tell her she’s got a hot piece anyway. Joke about stealing her away. Get to talking about how they met, some boring story about whale watching, guess it explains all the fish. Get asked how I met Abel, tell her to mind her own fucking business.

Start explaining to her about Fleet next couple times, wonder how the fuck she’s supposed to help me if she doesn’t know anything about the military, about war. Have to tell her about starfighter teams, how Abel’s my navigator, how we were the best-ranked team, top shit, how Abel’s the best goddamn navigator. She asks if I’m the best goddamn fighter, repeats back the swearing and everything.

Tell her I used to be. Tell her I can’t fight anymore, tell her they gave my Abel some other Cain to replace me after I left. Get to talking about my discharge, about my leg, but decide I don’t want to talk about that, ask her if her fish have names. Talk about that instead until Abel comes to get me.

Next time she’s wearing tight pants and a tank top, hair in a ponytail, looking ridiculous. Tells me we’re going for a walk, tell her she’s fucking crazy. Tells me I can walk behind her and watch her ass in the pants, tell her I think her girlfriend’s square enough to beat my ass in a fight. Tells me we’ll just go around the block, that’s it a nice day, she’s sick of being inside.

Limp my fucking way around the stupid block with her. Get to talking about my leg again, her asking me what happened. Call her a nosy bitch, get really nasty about it, get really angry and want to go back, tired of walking but she points out we’ve already gone halfway around, might as well keep going. Walk the rest of the way in silence.

She asks if I’ll do another lap with her, tell her she’s fucking crazy. Tells me I can sit on the steps and wait for Abel or come walk with her. Consider punching her but I don’t hit girls. Walk around the stupid block with her again, tell her my leg hurts, tell her she’s a shitty doctor, tell her she’s fired, tell her I fucked the mission so now I’m crippled, couldn’t save Abel once so can’t ever save him again. Yell at her, get confused for a second, wake up with her sitting where she always sits, fish swimming around in their aquarium, everything normal except me.

Don’t like it, don’t know what happened. Jump up like I’m going to leave, she calls me Cain and asks me to sit back down. Don’t like that either, it isn’t like with Abel, not the same, don’t like it. Tell her not to call me that, tell her she’s a fucking idiot, tell her to call Abel, tell her I want to leave.

Limp between the chair and the door telling her to call Abel, that I want Abel now, need my navigator, need to know he’s okay, get confused like maybe the mission’s fucked, everything’s on fire, blood and smoke, Abel screaming, my leg’s fucked, have to save Abel, don’t know where Abel is, need to go find Abel, know I can’t leave because Abel’s not there, promised Abel I’d do this, need her to call Abel, need my navigator, please call Abel.

And then Abel’s there, in the green and white motorcycle jacket, helmet under his arm, breathless like he ran the whole fucking way, surprised he didn’t crash the bike straight into the office, right into the aquarium, fish everywhere so I’d have to catch them all, put the fish in little bowls to keep them safe so they won’t drown.  

Bad day, shit kind of day, just want Abel to take me home so he does, puts me on the back of the bike. Don’t like what happened, don’t want to go back, tell Abel that. His mouth presses together, cute little scar blazing. Pace all around the apartment so it makes him nervous. Try to smoke inside because I’m starting to forget things, snap at Abel to turn the vents up if he doesn’t like it.

Bad day, bad night, wake up tense and shaking, wake up in the wrong room. In the office, Abel in the hall this time, pleading at me that he’s Abel, that he’s here now, that I need to come back to the bedroom where it’s safe with him. Say okay, tell him it’s okay, go back to bed and don’t sleep. Watch Reliant swim around in his bowl on the dresser.

Everything’s stupid in the morning, Abel looking sad and scared again. Have to tell him I didn’t mean it, try to apologize without saying I’m sorry. Tell him I’ll still go to the therapist like he wants, try to tell him there’s just bad days sometimes. He kisses me deep, lashes fluttering and wet, looking happy like after we signed the papers. Going to make him late for work, fucking him slow on the sofa, getting him all flushed and pretty.

Ask him to put Reliant on the balcony before he goes to work. Sit outside with my fish and smoke, waiting for Abel to come home. Fish swims around all fast and flashy, tell him he’s stupid. Fish doesn’t care, fish can’t hear me. Starts to rain that afternoon, put my shirt over Reliant’s bowl and get nervous, balcony’s covered but fish are delicate little fuckers, need water with special chemicals. Don’t want to see Reliant floating around in his bowl, like when he gets fast and flashy.

Hate Abel riding home in the rain, call his office and tell him to wait, news says it’ll stop raining in the evening.  Abel comes home on time anyway, shows up dripping wet and laughing when I scold him for it. He brings Reliant inside for me. Shirt’s almost dry, guess it worked, not enough wind to send the rain in sideways. Watch a movie with Abel in bed that night, Reliant swimming around in his bowl on the dresser. Good day.

Bad night, worst night, such a bad fucking night. Wake up tense and shaking, in the bedroom but on my feet, up against Abel, he’s pleading at me, everything horrible. Abel shoved into the dresser, huddled into it, arms up like he’s scared of me, one of those times he’s trying to tell me he’s Abel. Bruise on his face. Fucking bruise on his face, got his shirt knotted into my hand, I’m pushing him into the dresser, I’ve got a fist up to hit him again, it’s so fucking awful when I wake up.

Let go of Abel’s shirt, stumble back into something wet, my feet squishing into wet carpet. Reliant’s bowl on the floor in a puddle, he’s flapping around all fast and flashy, stupid tiny pirate ship crested out over the spill of colored rocks. His home’s destroyed, he’s going to drown, fish can’t breathe air they need water, he’s flapping around, Abel’s bruised.

Start gasping, start panicking, can’t handle what’s happening. Drop to my knees so fast it hurts, bad leg cramping. Hands shaking, have to catch Reliant, have to stop him flapping around, desperate to save him. Start sobbing, wrong kind of water, he’s not a fucking saltwater fish, he needs fresh water with chemicals, I bruised Abel again, I’ve killed my fish, I can’t handle this.

Abel grabs the bowl, sets it upright, tells me to put Reliant in the bowl. He runs out of the room, I hear him running through the apartment. Hear him crash into something, hear him yelling a question at me. There’s still some water in the bowl. Feel my little fish flapping between my shaking palms, hurriedly drop him into the tiny sliver of water. It’s not enough, just enough that he can huddle there in a panic, kind of shivering, on his side, flashy and frantic. I huddle next to him, carefully tip the bowl so there’s more water over him, enough that he stops flapping. Terrified he’s going to start floating.

Abel rushes in with the big bowl we use for popcorn full of water, splashing most of it on the floor as he drops next to me. Try to tell him about the chemicals, gasping so hard I can’t talk, forgot about his face until he looks at me. The skin’s red going dark, starting to swell, he’ll have a black eye in the morning, I bruised him. I hit Abel. I hit him.

Everything horrible, Abel looking at me with wide eyes, trying to tell me it’s okay, both of us crying, wrong kind of water. Abel goes to get the drops, still hurrying around, he can run but I have to stay with Reliant, keep the bowl tipped so there’s enough water for him. Abel’s back with the drops, asks me how many, have to fucking guess how much water fits in a popcorn bowl, sob the answer at him, that I don’t know, that _I don’t know, please, save Reliant, Ethan I hit you, baby your face is bruised, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t know—_

Abel guesses with the drops. He tries to save Reliant for me, gets more water in there with him. Not so fast and flashy, looks like maybe he’s hurt or just scared. Swims around slow. Give him back his little pirate ship, lower it down into the water with a shaking hand.

Abel puts his arms around me, tells me it’s okay. He’s hurt, he’s scared, fingers digging into me like anchors. Trying to tell me he’s okay, trying to tell me it’s okay that I hit him again, trying to tell me he knows I didn’t know it was him, knows I’d never hurt him, that it’s okay, begging at me to be okay. Left last time after I bruised him, ran out the door like a coward. He’s scared I’ll leave again, leave again for a year, left for that year we don’t talk about, the one we pretend never happened. Not going anywhere this time. Pull him against me tight, say that I’m sorry over and over.

Find Reliant floating around the top of his bowl in the morning. Devastated. Don’t want to show it. Don’t manage it. Abel catches me crying when he comes out of the shower. Just a stupid fish.

Abel takes the day off work. His eye is swollen over and black. Don’t want to sit by myself on the balcony. Decide to quit smoking. Don’t tell Abel. Sit with Abel instead, watch movies on the sofa under a blanket. Put my head in his lap. He puts his fingers through my hair. Sad day.

Go to therapy and tell her I hit Abel, killed my fish. Start telling her everything. 

 

 

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Raven/Kruk-zestaw drew [fanart](http://kruk-zestaw.tumblr.com/post/49624901519/okay-so-yeah-based-off-of-violetnytes) inspired by this chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

Mother pulls up in her car right as I’m walking out to pick up Cain from therapy, and it couldn’t be worse timing. Not that anytime would especially be good for Mother to stop by the apartment. I haven’t told her yet about Cain, that he’s back, that we signed those papers, that I love him so desperately and completely that everyday is worth it, even the bad ones. I haven’t even called her since Cain came back, just a few little texts saying I’m busy, how are you, love you too. And I guess she’s here because I was calling her too much when Cain was gone, just calling to hear a friendly voice and to hear someone say they loved me, even if it was my own mother.  

“Ethan, dear!” Waves her hand at me like I don’t see her car sitting in the guest spot directly across from where I park my bike.

I am so tempted to start running. I don’t, though, I smile and set my helmet down on the seat, walk over to her, hug her and let her kiss my cheek. It isn’t until I see her lips press together in a sad little slant of worry that I remember the smudged crest under my eye. It’s looking better, only ever really looked bad the first few days, the first week, but it’s lingering into yellow-green shadow, she’s seen it, and I have to go pick up Cain.

He was anxious when I lost track of the time, got stuck in traffic too long, how I arrived at Dr. Warren’s office fifteen minutes late to find Cain pacing around scowling, the doctor being so kind as to delay her lunch plans to wait for me. She’s expensive, insurance pays for most of it but there’s enough leftover that I quietly trimmed a bit off my budget, canceled the cable without Cain noticing, started taking a lunch to work, stop getting a latte in the morning, just little things like that. It’s worth it, I think Cain likes her, I think they’re getting along.

I think it’s helping, but everything’s been so fragile since the night I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t able to fend Cain off long enough to get a door between us, the night he slammed me into the dresser hard enough to topple the fish bowl. Cain’s been so devastated since then, not going out on to the balcony, spending a lot of time lying in bed with the excuse his leg hurts. Picked him up last week to find everything tense, the air heavy, Cain looking at the ground so clearly miserable it broke my heart. I’m hoping this week is better.

“Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?” It comes out a bit short, a bit rude.

“Surprise! I wanted to see you,” she says. “Your father’s here on a conference, so, I came along. Have you eaten lunch yet?”

“Now’s not a good time, Mom. I need to be somewhere.”

I see the hurt and worry ripple over her features, remember all the times I’d call her being mopey, _nothing’s wrong, Mom, just wanted to talk_ , the time she came to visit after Cain crashed the bike, how she kind of awkwardly stuck a bouquet of flowers in the window, Cain scowling and mumbling _thank you, ma’am_ , and then later we had to take the flowers home with us, put them on the balcony until they wilted into nothing.

I pull my phone out to check the time. “Why don’t you find a place nearby to eat, and I’ll just meet you there when I’m done? This won’t take long.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. I’ll just wait inside for you. I’ll clean up a bit for you while I wait. You always keep such a mess.”

My mother, who made me clean my room before the cleaning lady arrived. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and check the time again, figure I won’t be late if I take her inside first, but then I remember Cain, all the pictures of Cain I put back up, what the hell I’m going to tell my mother when I arrive with Cain. Well. She has to find out sometime, and I can’t treat Cain like a secret, that’s not fair, that’s not right.

I take my mother up to the apartment, jiggle my key into the lock and push it open. I guess it looks about the same as ever, Cain being around doesn’t mean much more than mussed up the throw pillows, his dishes in the sink rather than in the dishwasher. It isn’t like he owns much, like he cares what the apartment looks like. Just insisted about the balcony, and he hasn’t gone out there since the night he bruised me.

But the pictures, hung back up where there’d only been empty hooks before, little frames peeping up next to lamps and vases, just the silly snapshots we have from the war, all the pictures I’ve taken afterward so half of them have my arm in the shot, Cain scowling and looking sullen as ever. He hates when I bully him into taking pictures. I only have the one of him actually smiling, one of the first ones I took after he came to live with me. He’s on the balcony, arms folded over the rail, cigarette idle between his knuckles, not realizing that I’m taking a picture of him through the glass. It sits on my nightstand. I should hang it in the entry instead.

Mother notices. Of course she notices, her lips pressing together same as always when she thinks of her dear sweet boy living with some rough colony gypsy. “Ethan,” she says slowly. She’s looking at the little collage I made for the entry, photos from shore leave, half of them with my arm in the shot, the one in the center of Cain growling into my neck, drunk and aggressive about it, gleaming at the camera with his teeth over me, the biggest tipsy grin on my face.

She looks at me. “Ethan, sweetie, is everything all right?”

I check the time on my phone again. “Everything’s fine, Mom. I really have to go, though. We can talk when I get back.”

“Where are you going?” she asks. She looks into the rest of the apartment, at the balcony specifically. Wary about it, looking for Cain or maybe wondering if I’ve just gotten worse, put the pictures back up even though Cain’s still gone.

It was a whole year, too many mopey phone calls, the night I called her after having another messy drunk cry, so she maybe heard it in my voice, the shaky way I asked if they were having a New Year’s party, acted like maybe I’d go. I didn’t. I stayed home and watched the fireworks over the lake, sat on the balcony and drank, tried to smoke the pack of cigarettes I’d bought, puked later because it was so awful.

This isn’t a conversation I have time for, but I can’t very well let Mother sit here and worry that her son has gone off the deep end. “I’m going to pick up Sacha,” I tell her. “He lives here with me. We live together. We – we’re together, again.”

Not exactly graceful, I’m fumbling through this with such awkwardness, and the little press of her mouth tightens, droops to match the furrowing worry across her brow. She looks at the photos again. “Sacha,” she says. It isn’t quite a question.

I answer anyway. “Yes.” I spin my keys into my hand, resist the urge to check my phone. Thinking about Cain pacing even though he’s got that limp, looking nervous because I’m late. “Mom, I really have to go though. We’ll talk when I get back.”

I don’t let her argue it further, I just slip out the door again, leaving behind her worry and disapproval. I don’t know what I’ll do when I come back with Cain in tow, but I can’t be late to get Cain either, so the whole situation makes me tense and nervous. It’s a hot day, the wind whipping at my clothes as I drive to get Cain.

I make good time, arrive early enough that I have to sit in the little entry room tapping my foot, jittery and nervous. I check the time on my phone when it’s ten minutes past, fifteen minutes past, until it hits a full half-hour and the door to the doctor’s room is still closed, no sign of her and Cain, and I’m too timid to knock, too worried to sit still.

Just when I think it’s too much, that I’ll have to interrupt them, the door opens. The doctor pokes her head out, sees me sitting there on the edge of my seat, hands gripping my helmet, staring at her with some horribly anxious expression. “Ethan?” she says. “Would you come in, please?”

I set the helmet aside and jolt to my feet. “Is everything okay? Is Sacha okay?”

I’m whispering, but she speaks in a level, loud sort of way. “It won’t take long.” When I get closer, just before I actually reach where she’s blocking the door with her body, she drops her voice into nothing, hushing at me. “Do you have time for this?”

“Of course,” I say back, in the same kind of softness. Mother can just sit and wonder about it, maybe go look around at the photos and see how happy I look in them, maybe go get in her car and leave, stop worrying.

Dr. Warren nods, only slightly, and lets me into the room. Her little exam office is nice, cozy, no overhead light, just muted lamps turned into the walls, the big aquarium bubbling, draperies thick and heavy to block the light and sound from outside. There’s a leather loveseat where Cain’s sitting, a little table, and then the doctor’s black wicker chair. She’s dragged the wicker chair right up against the love seat, as we get into the room again she pulls it back into place across the table.

Cain’s not looking at me, he’s looking over at the aquarium, eyes heavy, chin rested on his fist, something white scrunched into his hand. He’s all the way up against the arm, sitting close to where the doctor’s chair had been a moment ago. My eyes flash to the box of tissues on the table. The doctor nods at me to take a seat, so I perch a little awkwardly on to the loveseat next to Cain. I try to give him space without it seeming like a rejection.

She sits as well. “Okay, Sacha,” she says. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” says Cain. Flat about it, the fight gone out of him. He drops his arm down, sits back into the cushions. Doesn’t look at the aquarium anymore, just looks at his knees.

“Ethan, Sacha wanted to tell you something. Is that okay?”

“Um, yeah,” I say quickly. Heart thumping into my ribs, stomach twisted up into knots.

Cain looks back at the aquarium and shrugs. And then doesn’t say anything, so it’s clear he isn’t going to.

 “Sacha,” she says. Sounding almost stern, snipping at him so it makes me feel frantic.

He shakes his head.

“You told me just a second ago that you wanted to,” she says.

“Shut up,” snarls Cain. “You just fucking shut up already.”

“Look, Sacha, you tell Ethan or I will.”

“Feel fucking sorry for your girlfriend, piece of shit attitude like that,” he says. “Bet you’re just a pile of fucking fun to come home to. Frigid cunt.”

I suck in a breath, hold it, stare back and forth between them. I am so horrified, so scared, already dreading another series of phone calls, finding a doctor who will let Cain smoke during the session, who doesn’t pause into awkwardness at realizing Sacha and I are a couple, who doesn’t flinch when I diplomatically say things like, _Sacha’s a little hard to get to know._

The doctor rolls her shoulders, shrugs off Cain’s rudeness. “She hogs the blankets. I think it’s a fair trade.”

Cain snorts, almost laughs. “Yeah, fair trade.” He looks up at the doctor and then over at me. He kicks his leg toward me, his good leg, nudging his foot up against mine. “Sorry I hit you.”

“Oh.” I glance at the doctor, but she’s looking at Cain. I have no idea what I’m supposed to say. It’s one thing to tell Cain it’s okay when it’s just us, when Cain’s shaking and crying, holding an empty fish bowl and begging me to help him save the little thing’s life. It seems a bit strange to tell him it’s okay when we’re sitting in this cozy room, when I’ve still got a bruise on my face, when it seems like something worse than what it is.

I’m suddenly panicked the doctor didn’t get the whole story out of Cain, that he took too much of a blame and guilt for himself. “You didn’t do it on purpose,” I say quickly. “Sacha?” He’s not looking at me, so I look at the doctor instead. “He didn’t know it was me. It wasn’t like – we weren’t fighting or anything.”

Neither of them says anything, so more just keeps pouring out of me. I have no idea what Cain’s already told her, I never press Cain about it, I just drop him off and pick him up again, just asked him at first if things went okay, didn’t press him about it.

I explained some about Cain’s situation over the phone and then again when I interviewed her, told her about Fleet, about Cain’s discharge, about the bike crash, about when he left – I wanted her to know, needed her to know, some of what Cain needs help with. Never told her about the time Cain bruised me, didn’t want to admit that, didn’t want her to think Cain’s dangerous. I didn’t want her to take Cain from me.

But now I have to explain, I’m so scared she has the wrong idea, I’m rushing over the words, “Sacha just had a bad dream, thought I was someone else – an enemy, that I, the real me, Ethan – Abel, he thought I was in danger. And that I, actual me, the person in the room with him, he thought I’d done something to – to me, to Abel, and he—“

Oh, God, this isn’t making sense, it makes sense inside my head but not out of my mouth, it’s just nonsense that I’m spewing at her.

Cain cuts me off, nudges at my shoulder. “Stop blabbering, Ethan. You sound like an idiot. Beth knows you’re not my personal punching bag.”

It takes me a bit longer than it should to realize that he’s referring to the doctor. It takes a bit longer than that to realize that beneath the flippant disregard Cain looks relieved, like maybe he didn’t really believe me when I tried to tell him it was okay, that he didn’t know it was me, that I _knew_ he didn’t know it was me he was trying to hurt.

I swallow around the urge to cry and say, shakily, “You stopped when you realized it was me.”

Cain looks away again, flinches his gaze to the side.  He shrugs. “Yeah.”

I shift toward him slightly, reach for him, and then stop, hesitate. I take my hand off the cushion and put it over my knee instead. After a moment of fragile silence, Cain puts his hand over my knee as well. He pats at me some, and then just leaves his hand there, fingers knotted into mine.

No one says anything for a long while. The doctor looks either like she’s expecting one of us to say something, or she’s waiting for the tension of the moment to pass before she says something.

It’s Cain who speaks first, says, “You know we went into overtime like half an hour ago.”

“Did we?” She feigns surprise and looks at her wrist, tips the watch up. “So we did. Well, then. I’ll see you next week.”

We all stand up, Cain taking the longest on account of his bad leg. He says, “You better not charge double just because you’re shit at keeping track of time.”

“I’ll just take it out of your ass,” she says in return. “Wear your walking shoes next time.”

“Oh, fuck you. What do you think I’m going to show up in, heels?” Cain nudges his shoulder into me. “Let’s go, Ethan.”

I look back at the doctor, a bit confused by everything, and she gives a bland kind of look in return, unruffled and smooth. I follow Cain out, grab my helmet. We’re already outside and on the bike by the time I shake free of the half-dazed bewilderment and remember about Mother. Before I can warn Cain, however, I feel his arms go around my waist, I feel him press up against my back.

It saps the will out of me, makes it so I turn the engine over and swing us out of the parking space. I’ll take him home first, kick Mother out. He isn’t saying anything, he pretended to be rough and sneering before leaving the doctor’s office, but I can tell Cain’s still upset by the close press of him against me.

I have to say something to Cain, however, I can’t just surprise him with this. I wait until we’re in the lobby waiting for the elevator. He’s leaned into the wall, always leaning because of his leg, face turned down and eyes heavy again, subdued and raw in that way he’s been for the past two weeks.

“My mother is here,” I tell him. Just blurts right out of me, sharper than I want it to. “She’s upstairs. She’s in the apartment.”

“I know,” Cain says. His shoulder lifts and lowers. “Saw her car.”

“Oh.” Because it never occurred to me Cain ever paid attention to things like that, that he’d even remember.

And then he says, “Your father’s here, too.”

“What!” I’m loud about it, entirely too loud, I can see Cain flinch.

He recovers quickly, before my skipping heartbeat has a chance to level out, and shrugs again. “Saw his car, too.”

The elevator opens with a cheerful chime. Cain limps inside, but I’m almost too frozen to follow. I stand there a while longer, until he starts to look impatient, until he starts to look worried. I hurry into the little cage and let it lift us up to certain uncomfortable doom. My mind’s racing through the possibilities, starting with my mother certainly having called my father, ending with a lot of horrible things.

I make a hasty decision, punch the button for the floor just below ours. Cain stares at me, but I grab his hand. “Come on,” I say. He lets me drag him out of the elevator. I immediately push the down button, watch the empty elevator glide up the extra floor.

“What the fuck are you doing Ethan?”

“I don’t want to see my parents.”

Cain sets his jaw, shifts his weight to lean against the wall. “You don’t want your parents to see me.”

He’s right. He knows he’s right. I open my mouth to deny it and can’t. Mother’s one thing, sure, just swap Cain out for her, take her somewhere we can talk, it’ll be fine. She gave me the tube of concealer, she tried to flutter comfort at me when Cain left, I’m her only child, her dear sweet son, she brought Cain flowers after he crashed the bike. And then there’s my father.

I jab at the down button again, impatient. “It’s not a good time for it. Let’s just go.”

Cain stares at me, expression unreadable, eyes heavy again so it makes me nervous. “Did you tell them?”

Mercifully the elevator opens. I step inside quickly, but Cain stays there leaning up against the wall, looking lazy all the time because of his leg. “Sacha, come on.”

“Did you tell them?” he asks again. Insistent now, starting to scowl.

The doors try to close. I have to set my hand against them, force them back. “Tell them what?”

“You know.”

I purposefully act like there could be some other horrible conversation to be having besides this one. “Sacha, just get in the elevator. We’re leaving.”

He reaches over and hits one of the buttons. I can’t see, but I know for sure it’s the one to call the elevator back up.

I stop the doors again. “Sacha, please.”

“Fuck you.”

I clench my jaw, try not to get upset. “Sacha, let’s go. I don’t want to talk to my parents right now.”

“My leg hurts. I want to lay down.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it. He stares at the other elevator.

I have to consider the possibility his leg really is bothering him, that this isn’t just a ploy. I have to consider what kind of disaster will happen if Cain goes up to the apartment by himself. I have to stab the button to keep the doors open. “Sacha, please. I’ll—“

The other elevator opens, and Cain limps into it. I have to hurry after him, switch elevators fast. We fight over the buttons for a moment, Cain trying to press the one for our floor, me just weaving around in front of the panel to block him. He tries to reach around me, I shove at his arm, shove him, and I think it surprises us both that it works as well as it does.

I reach for Cain to help him keep his balance, but that doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t work, Cain goes down hard and I go right on top of him. I start apologizing right away, try to scramble off him, terrified that maybe I’ve clumsily landed on his leg, hurt him, but Cain grabs at me, snarls at me, rolls us both over the cramped elevator floor.

“Abel, don’t move,” he growls. His hands go over my head, wrapping me tight against his chest as he hunches over me. “Stay down.”

I huddle under him, keep still like he says, passive like always when Cain gets like this. “Cain, it’s okay – Cain, nothing—“

“Shh!” His fingers dig into me, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to bruise. He hisses, low and vicious, “Shut the fuck up!”

I drop my voice into a whisper. “Cain, it’s okay. I can get us out of here. I need you to press the button for the lobby—“

The elevator starts to move. Cain tightens over me, tense and shaking, so I can feel his leg jittery with how he’s straining. We’re going up, I’m trapped beneath Cain, he’s lost to me, and I just feel like screaming, crying, breaking down right there on the elevator floor. What if the door opens and it’s some stupid old lady from down the hall, but Cain doesn’t know that, Cain tries to hurt _me_ when he gets like this, how the hell is he going to stay restrained when it’s some stranger? I scratch my fingers into his arm, pluck at him with frantic urgency.

“Cain, let me up, okay? Everything’s fine, we’re safe, let me up, okay?”

Cain crushes me to him, snarls about it, and the elevator doors open. We’d only gone up the one floor. Of course it’s my parents standing there. I’m trapped under Cain, he’s hunched over me, the doors are open, Mother and Father are standing in the hall, it’s a bit too much.

I feel like poor Cain, sobbing and shaking on the bedroom floor holding his fish bowl, clearly everything falling apart around him, so I tore around the apartment in such a panic that I knocked over tables, crashed into a lamp and broke the bulb, still couldn’t help Cain save his fish and now there’s just pieces leftover that I have to collect. So there’s my parents, looking at us, there’s me on the floor pinned beneath Cain, there’s everything just becoming the worst scenario possible because why the fuck not. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Think something’s wrong, think it’s my fault, think I’m what’s wrong. Don’t know what’s happening, just know I don’t like it, have to keep Abel safe, have to keep Abel behind me. Everyone talking all at once, Abel talking loudest and fastest of all, got him up against the wall, up against my back. His arms around my waist, holding me back or just holding me, think maybe he’s scared, everyone talking all once, something’s wrong, think it’s my fault.

Need it to not be my fault, need to figure out what’s happening, need Abel safe, need everyone to stop talking, everyone talking all at once. Tell them all to shut up, shut the fuck up, everyone stop talking, listen to Abel, Abel’s trying to talk the loudest, everyone should shut up so he won’t have to be so loud. Now Abel’s even louder, dragging me somewhere, Abel’s pushing at me, Abel’s yelling, think this might be my fault. Abel talking at me all soft and pleading, hope he doesn’t cry, not sure what’s happening.

Tell him that, tell Abel I don’t know what’s happening, ask if it’s my fault, think he really might cry when he tells me it isn’t. Makes him push at me, drag me into the bedroom, yell over his shoulder at where everyone else is still talking, everyone being loud, Abel loudest of all. Tell him that, tell Abel he’s being loud, tell him I don’t like it. Abel tells me it’s okay, tells me I’ll be safe in the bedroom, asks me to wait here for him.

Don’t like that, don’t want to get separated, not sure what’s happening but need to keep Abel safe. Get my shoulder into the door, slam it shut, keep my weight against it. Me and Abel on one side, all the rest of on the other, trust we’ll be safe here because Abel says so, he’s the navigator, I’m the fighter, got to keep Abel safe.

Abel telling me it’s okay, asking me to sit on the bed, asking me to move away from the door. He wants to go back out there, back where it isn’t safe. Tell him no, tell him to shut up, tell him not to be stupid.

Abel getting even softer, pleading at me, looking scared and ready to cry. Asks me to trust him, asks me to get away from the door, asks me to stay here where it’s safe. Have to trust my navigator, can’t fly a fucking starfighter, can’t even drive a motorcycle, go too fast and crash, let Abel take my hand, let him put me on the bed. Watch him go where it’s not safe.

Door closes.

Sit alone.

Quiet now.

Still hear them, just quieter.

Everyone talking all at once, but Abel’s not the loudest anymore. Don’t like that.

Sit long enough where it’s quiet that I think I know what’s happening. Get shit a bit more figured out. Not so loud in here, just hear everyone being loud.

Abel getting yelled at, don’t like that, fucking hate that.

My fault, my fault he’s getting yelled at, I’m the one who’s wrong.

Abel’s dad, don’t like him, don’t think Abel does, always makes Abel look like he’s going to cry, always makes him scrunch up his face like he’s angry, think he’s really just sad. Abel’s mom, guess she’s okay, brought me flowers once, call her ma’am since she’s a lady, Abel’s such a fucking momma’s boy sometimes, have to be nice to his mom, don’t have to be so nice to his dad, call him sir because he makes Abel’s face scrunch up, sneer it so Abel looks horrified, laughs about it later.

Lay down on the bed. Leg hurts. Don’t feel well. Don’t know what’s happening. Everyone yelling again, Abel getting loud again.

Take off my shoes. Abel doesn’t like shoes in the house. Doesn’t like them on the bed especially.

Don’t feel well, don’t like this, scared because Abel’s out where it isn’t safe, I have to stay in here where it is safe, Abel can’t be in here safe with me. Abel talking loud, talking about me, telling his parents about me, having to talk about that year we pretend never happened, telling them about those papers.

Talking about me. Don’t like that. Don’t like what they’re saying. Don’t like Abel having to say it, having to say I won’t hurt him, bruise on his face still that says I will, I’ll hurt him and not even know it.

Don’t feel well, don’t like this. Get a pillow to put over my head.

Quieter now.

Can’t hear them anymore.

Get the pillow tight, tight, tight over my head.

Reliant never made any noise, just swam around fast and flashy.

Remember him flapping around in my hands, dying, killed my fish. Never had a pet before.

Think about Abel looking scared, face bruised, pleading at me. Never had anything like him before either.

Everything’s wrong, I’m what’s wrong, it’s my fault.

Start gasping, can’t breathe, under this stupid pillow because it makes it quiet.

Don’t feel well, don’t like this, don’t like this, don’t like this.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I set my forehead against the door and sigh. There are times when I think it might be easier to have no parents at all, and then I think about all the reasons why that’s a horrible thought. Still, doesn’t stop me from thinking it. I’ve finally gotten rid of them both, my mother and my father, yelled myself hoarse like some silly teenager, like all the fights we had when I wanted to join the Alliance, wanted to become a navigator rather than a politician.

The apartment’s quiet now, all the harsh things echoing around the tasteful furnishings and silly pictures of me and Cain. All my mother’s hushed fretting, all my father’s angry blustering, all my frustrated desperation, and all of Cain’s—

Cain.

Shit.

I shove off from the door and start for the bedroom. Cain, trying to protect me from everything, so confused and looking like it, so lost and looking like it, my parents getting to see it all so I hate them for it, hate them judging Cain, the tight worried slant of Mother’s pressed lips. Father threatening to call the police, Mother not quite disagreeing with him but disapproving all the same, having to say things like, _Sacha and I are in love – this is his home, too – you can’t just show up here and tell me how to live my life – get out of my house!_

“Sacha?” I decide to knock first, just softly, rasping my knuckles over the door. I don’t get an answer, so I call again, “Sacha?”

I pop the knob with that way doors can’t ever open quietly, and something hits up against the other side when I do. Something soft and urgent, makes a strange flumph sort of sound, and when I open the door there’s a pillow lying there to put up a token resistance. Cain’s on the bed with another pillow clamped over his head, good leg curled up toward his chest with the bad one out straight and jittery.

“Cain?” I’m a bit unsure if I should come any further into the room, unsure entirely, scared and worried like always when Cain’s upset. I get a bit closer, sort of creep toward the bed, and now I can hear Cain gasping, almost hyperventilating from the sound of it, so I’m frantic to get at him, find out what’s wrong, calm him down.

When I get on the bed, he moves, shifting like he’s cringing, trying to get both legs under himself even though the one can’t, he’s so tense, he’s strained himself with all that’s happened, from the episode in the elevator to right now. I have a sudden dizzying wash of how horrible it must have been for Cain, stuck here in the bedroom listening to me fight with my parents. And I know he’s trapped in that place I can’t follow, knowing he’s gotten confused again, lost.

I stop just shy of reaching him, kneel on the edge of the bed. “Cain, it’s okay. Cain, hey, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”

He pushes at the bed, bad leg getting useless, struggling in a way that breaks my heart because I don’t know what he’s even trying to do, where he’s trying to go. He rolls on to his back, chest heaving, eyes closed up tight, wrenching the pillow in his hands.

Now I’m panicked, because Cain’s panicking, because he’s still breathing too fast and hard, and I don’t know what to do. I edge further over the bed, getting closer to him. “Cain? Hey, it’s—“

He rolls into me, grabs at me, hauls me into him so fast and sudden that I’m scared, but only for a moment, only until he wraps over me tight and shaking. He makes a sound that isn’t anything, hoarse and raw, almost like a whimper, more like a growl, burying into me with overwhelming need. Cain’s mouth goes into my neck, teeth grazing, breath hot and fast.

“Cain, it’s okay,” I say. I stroke my hands over his back. “Baby, everything’s fine.”

Cain doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything to let me know he hears me, that he even understands what I’m trying to tell him. His breathing slows into something less treacherous after a while. He stays pressed up close against me, arranged in such a way I can’t see his face, can’t begin to understand what he’s thinking, if he’s even thinking at all.

“Sacha?” I wait until he’s stilled, when he seems to have calmed down, when we’re just tangled into each other on the bed.

“Got your shoes on still,” he says. His hands curl into me, tighten over me, all of him moving into me like we could be closer together if he tries hard enough. I can feel the vibration in him still, the tension, the way the words hitch and slur like they’re hard for him. He’s trying to reach back to me from the place he’s gone, trying to grab hold of reality again. So I grab him, hold him, heart pounding, heart breaking, not caring that it hurts.

Cain says, “You’re gonna get the bed dirty.” He’s whispering, sounding so miserable, almost feeble.

“That’s okay,” I tell him.

He shudders in a breath and lets it out slow, shaky, all of him shaking. “Sorry.”

Because I’m an idiot, I tip my head around to look at our feet, like Cain’s actually apologizing for the bed being dirty. He’s just in his socks, and there’s something so pathetic about the fact he took off his shoes before lying down like this. I swallow a bit of a lump and say, “It’s okay.” I don’t even know what he’s apologizing for.

“My fault,” he says. “Ethan, your parents. I fucked it up.” His voice has gotten tight, just as tight as the rest of him, he’s so tense.

“No, Sacha, it’s fine. It’s not your fault, baby, nothing’s your fault.”

“Shut up,” he snarls. He bites at my neck, digs his fingers into me so it stings. “Stop fucking lying, Ethan, stop saying that kind of shit, stop trying to tell me it’s okay when it’s not fucking okay, stop—“

He’s getting breathless again, the words spiraling, his whole body shaking all the harder. It’s a fluttery, terrifying, ugly kind of noise that tells me he’s getting panicked, starting to lose himself again. And then he’s shoving at me, tumbling away from me. His breath hitching, so horrible, as he fumbles for the edge of the bed with ungainly urgency.

“Sacha?” I’m alarmed, following after him. His bad leg won’t hold him, makes it so he nearly crumples. I snatch at him, support his weight.

“I think—“ He’s white-faced, utterly colorless, trembling weak and groaning. “I’m going to—“

“Oh, hell,” I say, feeling Cain shudder and heave in my arms. I get my shoulder under him, put an arm around his waist, half-carry, half-drag him to the bathroom as fast as I can. We just barely make it and don’t really make it at all, Cain twisting to the floor in a way that looks painful even without considering his leg. He clutches at the toilet, chokes for a while and doesn’t actually do anything before going all the way down to the floor, just slumping to the tile in a gasping, white-faced, trembling puddle.

He tries to kick at me with his good leg, but it just turns into a flopping kind of gesture. He puts an arm up over his face and moans, “Go away.”

“Oh, God, Sacha—“ I try to get closer but he flails his other arm at me, tries to kick my legs out with his. “Sacha, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t feel well. Ugh, Ethan, go the fuck—” He rolls to his side. He’s a sickly, ashen kind of color, breath entirely too quick, everything about him alarming and worrisome. “Go away.”

I get to my knees, but that only makes it easier for him to push me away. I ignore him. It isn’t like he’s trying hard, or pushing at me with much strength. I brush damp hair from his sweat-slicked forward and frown. “Sacha—“

He gets a bit more force into it, swats his hand into my chest. “Ethan, go away. Go the fuck away.”

It’s a hard decision to make. He looks so ill, so breathless and shaky, so unsure himself, twisted up in a way that hurts me. But he’s also stubborn, strong, he tries to be so strong through all of this that I just don’t know what to do.

I back away a little, get to my feet. It’s about the hardest thing to leave Cain there, to force myself into a different part of the apartment. I leave him there, white-faced and shaking, maybe sick, maybe just twisted up, I don’t know. I’m just as lost as Cain, I guess.

I sit in the living room. I pour a little of Cain’s whisky into a glass and water it down. I’m not much of a drinker, never have been, Cain forcing beers and shots into me on shore leave, maybe a little wine for special occasions. The nights I spent alone after Cain left, the drunk messy sobbing.

I roll the empty glass between my hands. I make myself lunch, just a sandwich, a handful of chips. I should offer Cain something, crackers and water at the very least, something to settle his stomach. I’m too timid to go check on him, too afraid he’ll think I’m hovering. It’s awful to just sit there and wait, sit and wait for I’m not sure what, I guess for Cain to come looking for me.

I sit long enough that I have to make dinner. I eat cereal instead, because I don’t feel like cooking, because I’m a bit too nervous for that. There’s still no sign of Cain, so I do it, I find some plain salted crackers and carry them with me into the bedroom.

He’s in bed, under the covers, rolled to his side and maybe asleep. It brings me up short, the sight of him lying there. I’m not sure what to do. I’m holding the crackers. I walk over to the bed and set them on the nightstand. It makes a little bit of noise, the crinkle of plastic, but Cain doesn’t stir. He might really be asleep.

I guess that’s okay. I guess that’s for the best. He still looks a little ill, not as bad as earlier, thank God, but still unwell enough that I don’t dare wake him, since I guess he really is asleep. I leave him there, go to the office and tap absently at some of my work. Keep tapping at it until I’m just making gibberish and have to delete everything. I can’t hold my thoughts for more than a few seconds, can’t focus on anything. I just drop my hands into my lap, sit back in my chair. Stare at the ceiling until it’s late enough that I’m tired, that I guess I can go to bed.

Cain’s still in the bed, so I kind of tiptoe around getting ready. When I slide between the sheets he stirs, shifts on to his back with a sigh that sounds more like a whine. I lay there staring at the ceiling, watch the shadows to keep from watching Cain.

The next day, Sunday, is a bad day. Cain’s distant, so incredibly distant it’s like he isn’t even in the apartment. It’d be one of those days he’d sit on the balcony all day, except he doesn’t go out there. He hasn’t gone out on there since that night, the one when he bruised me, except everyday the bruise is getting fainter, fading into nothing, but Cain gets quieter, his eyes get heavier, it’s a bad day. He ignores me, sits around looking at nothing, calls me Abel all day long, tell me to shut up if I try talking to him, so I stop. I don’t bother him, just tiptoe around the apartment until the day is over, until I can go to bed and watch the shadows.

Just before I fall asleep, Cain rolls into me, puts his teeth against my neck, his arm around my waist. Pulls me into him and doesn’t say a word. In the middle of the night he wakes me up, he wakes up tense and shaking, he doesn’t do anything to wake me, I just wake up anyway when he gets like this. He sits upright in bed, breathing hard and shaking, his hand on my chest like he’s feeling my heartbeat. I hold still, because I don’t want him to know that I’m awake. I don’t say anything, don’t move, wait for him to settle down next to me again, put his mouth into my shoulder and hold me close.

The next day at work I call Dr. Warren on my lunch break. I probably shouldn’t, but I spent most my morning staring at my desk rather than actually doing my job. I keep thinking of Cain, breathless and pale on the bathroom floor. The phone rings for a bit before she answers, just enough to make me nervous, so I have to apologize.

She tells me it’s fine, now’s a good time to talk, her words are blocky and stuffy like she’s chewing something, so the doctor’s probably lying. Everything rushes out of me, my parents coming to visit and Cain’s breakdown, him getting so shaky and chalky, the bad day we had Sunday where I might as well have been alone in the apartment.

“Ethan,” she says, once I’ve begun to run out of steam. “Ethan, why are you telling me this?”

“Because…” I slide lower in my chair. “I’m worried about Sacha.”

She’s quiet for a moment and then says, “Would you like to come in sometime this week to discuss it?”

“No, I—“ The offer sinks in deep, makes me think about what I’m doing. “No. Okay. Um, never mind.”

“I wanted to escalate Sacha’s treatment anyway. Why don’t we block out a second hour sometime during the week for you to share?”

I can barely afford the one hour a week.  “No, no, it’s fine. I’m sorry for bothering you at work.”

“Ethan,” she says. Sharp, the same way she spoke to Cain, except softer, hushed, so maybe I’m imagining it. “Let me just ask you one question, and please answer honestly. Do you have any reason to think that you aren’t safe with Sacha?”

“No,” I say. Quickly, snapping it at her, the fight with my parents fresh on my mind. “Sacha would never hurt me.”

“Do you feel safe with Cain?”

“It’s the same thing, yes.” It comes out low and dangerous. My fingers curl into the little rectangle of my cell phone. “It isn’t like that. I told you, I told you Sacha just – he had a bad dream, when he hit me, I just wasn’t fast enough. I’m not scared of Sacha, or Cain, I’m not!”

“All right, Ethan.” She’s utterly smooth about it, completely glossing over the fact I was raising my voice, that I’m practically eye level with my desk even though she can’t see me. “Then I’ll see Sacha on Saturday, and we’ll discuss his panic attack if he wants to. I’m his doctor first and foremost.”

It’s dismissive, so I feel my cheeks flush over with heated embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Ethan. Anytime you’d like to talk, feel free to call me. This situation asks a lot from you.”

“No, it’s fine, sorry for bothering you.” My heart’s racing, suddenly frantic because she’s asking about me being safe, asking if I think Cain’s dangerous. We talk a bit more, hang up, and I sit there terrified for the rest of the day. Terrified that she’ll decide I’m not safe, that she’ll think all the wrong things about Cain, that maybe I don’t know what I’m doing. I fold my arms over the surface of my desk and my forehead into them. I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t, I’m so lost, I’m so confused, I’m just so…

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Start off talking about the night I bruised Abel, the night I killed Reliant, even though we already talked about it twice and even made Abel come talk about it, too. Pace around until she asks me to sit, asks me if anything happened during the week, asks it so I know she already knows, guess Abel must have told her, didn’t know they talked about me. Not sure I like that, thinking about Abel talking to his parents about me, everyone always talking about me because I’m what’s wrong, it’s my fault.

Sit and sulk so she admits Abel did call her, until she assures me nothing I tell her gets repeated to Abel. Start trying to explain what happened, explain about Abel’s parents, how I fucked it up, how it’s my fault, have to keep going further and further back until I’m talking about the year I left.

Tell her how I didn’t want to do this anymore, about the night with the fireworks and holding Abel, leaving because I couldn’t stand it, tell her about Abel’s messages, start to tell her more but we’re out of time, been out of time for a while, Abel sitting in the other room waiting. She tells me not to worry about it, goes and tells Abel to keep waiting, but I’m getting up to leave.

Her asking me to sit back down, me telling her instead to fuck off, out of time so I’m leaving. Tell her I don’t want to do this anymore, tired of talking, leg hurts, want to lay down, want Abel to take me home, don’t feel well, can’t do this anymore, thought she was supposed to make me feel better but I just feel worse, getting worse like Abel said, everything my fault, don’t want to do this anymore, feeling like maybe I can’t again, can’t do this.

Things get a little tense, more things wrong because of me, Abel coming in to sit with me, speak softly at me, put his arms around me. Sit there for a while, just Abel talking, saying stupid stuff like always, stuff that’s not true, lying to me that things are okay. Lean into him, let him do it, guess I like hearing him say stupid stuff sometimes.

Bad day, bad week, nothing but bad days since I bruised Abel, killed Reliant. Abel sitting with me, arm around me, lean into him like when we took the bike out at night, making him go fast around the turns, he won’t let me drive anymore, going fast.

Tell Abel I crashed the bike on purpose, all that time ago, went too fast and crashed, meant to do it, didn’t want to do this anymore, tired all the time and hating it. Feeling like that again, everything going too fast, not wanting to do this anymore, can't do this anymore, can't.

Everything silent in the room, just Abel’s sharp intake of breath, my words hanging in the air, the doctor sitting in her wicker chair that’s pulled around too close, the aquarium bubbling into the serene stillness.

Guess I probably shouldn’t have said that.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

It’s the first good day in a very long time, and I know it’s a good day because Cain is in the kitchen when I wake up. He’s attacking a cardboard tube of cinnamon rolls without much success, until the tube finally pops open with enough force that I jump, but Cain doesn’t even flinch. He’s the one who put them in the grocery cart in the first place, against my silent better judgment, but I wouldn’t dare point it out to him.

Things are still a little fragile, still a little tense, maybe less horrible than they were right after my parents came to visit. I even spoke with Mother on the phone the other day, killing time while I waited for Cain’s session to end. He goes twice a week now, to hell with my budget, just a slow trickling drain out of my savings that I don’t care about. They do the midweek session in our apartment, so I don’t have to worry about getting Cain to and from therapy while I’m at work. They sit on the balcony, because Cain won’t go out there by himself anymore, doesn’t even smoke anymore. He quit and I didn’t notice, didn’t put it together, didn’t realize it until he told me.

He tells me things now, waits until we’re in bed almost asleep, when he’s wrapped around me with his teeth into my neck, breath hot and slow against my skin. I guess that was Dr. Warren’s suggestion, that Cain try talking to me about what’s bothering him, and sometimes it’s so awful that I wish he’d stop, but I’d never tell him that, never in a million years, not when he keeps fluctuating between doing better and doing worse.

It was so awful, right after my parents came to visit, right after Cain bruised me again, all those bad days, so many of them that I was scared to go to work, scared to leave Cain alone in the apartment. Scared maybe he wouldn’t be there when I got back. Scared enough that I’d make up excuses to call him from the office, that I asked him to text me a little, that I asked him to go twice a week, that I had to explain it was just him not feeling well, that maybe the medication would help with that, explained it so stupidly that he looked at me like I was stupid. But he did it, texted me throughout the day so I could check my phone in meetings and pretend it was just to check the time, took the antidepressants, sat on the balcony for therapy, was always there when I came home from work.

And things are better now, it’s a good day, he’s in the kitchen trying to figure out which cake pan to use, asking me if we have nonstick spray. He won’t quite look at me, though, so I know he’s upset but trying hard, trying to act like everything’s okay for me. Last night he told me he’d slept with Deimos once, when we were stationed on the Sleipnir. He turned trembling when he said it, braced for a fight, but I didn’t do anything more than kiss his hair, stroke his back, say okay even if it wasn’t, even if I cried in the shower this morning because I was so frustrated and hurt.

I guess it was a long time ago, I guess it doesn’t matter, things were different then than they are now, things have always been strange with Deimos, it isn’t like Cain ever had any other friends, it isn’t like I’m going to feel petty and jealous about it now. It was a long time ago.

Cain has to fetch the wrapper that he just threw away to check the cook time, grumbling curses under his breath when he has to try lining up the curling shreds of the tube to read it. “Why do they print the fucking instructions on the seam?” he asks.

So it’s a good day, I won’t mention what he told me last night, won’t mention the bad day on Friday when I came home from work to find him hiding in the office, when he threw a book at the door when I knocked, when I told him I was Abel and he ignored me, didn’t come out until it got so late I tried knocking again, found him asleep under the desk. So many bad days, but today’s a good one, a Sunday, nothing to do except enjoy it being a good day.

It doesn’t stop me from being vigilant about the oven timer, keeping track of time on my phone, getting worried when the timer goes off and Cain takes forever getting to his feet and limping into the kitchen. Everything’s fine, though, and we sit at the table to eat sticky cinnamon rolls, perfectly golden brown beneath all the frosting.

Afterward he tells me there’s frosting on my mouth, leans forward and licks at my lips, kisses me deeply, promises everything with the heat and desire of him. We go into the bedroom, take our time, take so much time that Cain’s leg gets to bothering him, makes it so he asks me to take the lead, roll him into the pillows and cuddle up against his back.

I can’t even remember the last time we did this. It must have been sometime just after he came to live with me, a small forever ago, one of those good days when we had to so many, before they became rare like this. Cain grumbles, “Don’t get too excited, princess, your ass is still mine.”

He’s nervous and trying not to show it, and I stretch him so carefully that he gets impatient, snaps at me to hurry up before he falls asleep, shows a lot of teeth so I know he’s joking. I put another pillow under Cain’s hips, get him lifted up so it’s more comfortable.

He’s on his stomach, no weight on his leg this way, and I’m careful about it, a little jittery, making him laugh under his breath. “You need me to fuck you instead, sweetheart? Remind you how this is done?”

He asks this right as I’m pushing in, so I just make a lot of silly noises in response. “Nnh – ah, Sacha, no, that’s—“

“Ah, yeah,” he says. “Guess you remember it well en— _fuck_!” Because I’ve started to move, thrust forward, braced against the bed so I can keep my weight off him, so mindful of his bad leg even when everything else makes it so hard to think.

I kiss his back and shoulder, breathe hot and heavy into his skin, feel everything so intensely, overwhelmed by our good day when we haven’t had one in so long. He groans my name at me in a way that’s too much, that makes me whine and push into him faster, harder, I get my teeth into his shoulder, bite at him like he’s always biting at me, fucking him like he always fucks me, so he snips his teeth and says, “Ah, fuck, Ethan!”

I don’t last very long, which would be embarrassing enough without the fact I call him Cain, cry “Ah, ah! Cain, nng, Cain!” right into his shoulder, except he says, “Oh, fuck yeah, Abel!” right back at me, and I guess that’s okay, guess we both know what we’re doing, how that’s okay. There’s nothing lost or confused in the way he strokes my arm, nibbles at my ear, rolls into me with hot impatience when I tumble off him and into the bed, chest heaving from orgasm.

He’s hard, ready, fucked and wanting more, leg still bothering him enough that he presses up against me without moving it. I have to gather my wits and kiss back at him, work my mouth with pliable need until I’ve recovered enough to run my fingers through his hair, rub my hands over his back, push him back into the bed again. I get on top, ride him this time, let him be lazy because of his leg, because it bothers him sometimes, because I want him inside me so desperately, want to feel just everything so intensely.

We go until I start to tire, until he can tell my thighs are burning from all the exertion. He growls about it, snarls, “Not done fucking you, princess.”

“Mmm, Sacha, I—“

He pushes me off him, gentle about it, rolling upright with the motion. We kiss, fumble around, hands and bodies eager as he positions me, bends me over the edge of the bed so he can stand, it’s easier for him that way, it’s the kneeling that bothers him more. He puts his fingers into me, leans over my back and bites at my neck. “You still hot for it, sweetheart?”

“Ye-yes!” I grip the sheets, arch my back so I press against his hand. I’m hard again, erection rubbing the edge of the bed where he has me bent over, him standing behind me, guess it’s okay on his leg, guess that – oh, God – he’s working his fingers into me, finding the spot that makes my mind blank, makes me gasp his name and whimper.

 Cain laughs, low and throaty, snarling approval into my neck. “Damn, you’ve got a nice ass. I just want to spend all day in it, pump you so sore you can’t sit down tomorrow.”

I whine and thrash, push against him. “Ah, please, Sacha—“

He sheaths into me, quick and urgent about so I twist into the bed, moan, fall into pieces for him. It’s the most wonderful kind of breaking, just the rhythm of him, the pant and snarl of his breath, the way everything is so, so, so – everything, nothing.

His thigh gets jittery, I can feel his motions speed up and then slow down, deep thrusts. I’ve already come again into the sheets, getting pressed forward so the wet fabric smears against my stomach. I’m plastered over the edge of the bed and, oh, this is such a good day when he twists his hand into my hair, moans, “Ethan, ah, fuck, Ethan, unngh!”

We lay side by side on the bed afterward, him on his back, legs over the side, me still face-down but crawled a little ways up from the edge so I won’t slump to the floor. It’s boneless, lazy, sated sort of sprawl, not caring I’ll have to take the bedding down into the basement laundry, not caring that I’m sore just like he promised. It’s a good kind of sore, satisfying. I nudge into him, bring us a little closer together. He drapes an arm over my sweaty back and sighs.

Eventually we have to get up, start moving around. Cain needs a little help getting off the bed, and he lets me, leans on me a bit to get into the shower, stays leaned on me in the shower. It’s good days and bad days with his leg as well, but on the overall he’s getting stronger, starting to get the muscle back over his bones, bouncing back from whatever awfulness it was where he didn’t take care of himself for a year, let himself get knocked weak.

I’ll catch him at it sometimes, come home from work and find him on the floor trying to do pushups in front of the television, find him hastily putting the milk back into the fridge, like he wasn’t lifting it into curls. He won’t do it when I’ m around, doesn’t want me to see how awkward it is for him, how he’s struggling. Some days I’ll go to pick Cain up from therapy and find him sweaty, shirt ringed with it, Dr. Warren in exercise clothes as well. I guess they go for walks, her pushing Cain into it, forcing him outside so he grumbles and curses and, when we get home, just wants to curl up in bed with me and watch a movie.

When we’re both showered clean and dressed back into silly around-the-house stuff for lazy Sundays like this, Cain goes to stretch out on the sofa with the heating pad wrapped around his leg. I feel slightly responsible, try to apologize a little, but he cuts me off with a scoffing, irritable kind of dismissal. It’s a warning, he doesn’t want me to point out that he’s feeling weak, doesn’t want me hovering. I hope I didn’t hurt him, make him feel sore.

I take the bedding down into the laundry room instead, gather up our dirty clothes while I’m at it. I tell Cain where I’m going, call it casually over my shoulder on the way out, so I hear him snip back sarcasm, telling me to have fun.

He’s asleep when I return, head turned into the crook where the arm of the sofa meets the back. I go remake the bed, put the laundry away, find him awake again when I’m done. He makes a little room for me on the sofa, so we sit with his head in my lap. After a while he lets me rub at his leg, massage where the heating pad has made the muscles lax for once. It ends up getting heated in a different way, both of us a bit too tired and worn out for anything more than heavy making out, me sitting on the floor, him lying on the sofa still, faces together like two teenagers. It’s nice all the same, nice to just be with Cain like this, a good day when we haven’t had one in so long.

The next day is a bad one, starts off with Cain waking up so late in the night it’s almost morning, it’s four am and I’m chased into the office, Cain yelling at me, wanting to know where Abel is, telling me he’ll kill me if I’ve hurt Abel. He’s getting stronger, I actually have to struggle against the door to keep it closed, to keep Cain out. It makes me think about getting a lock, except then I don’t know what I’ll do for the times it’s reversed, when Cain’s the one hiding in the office.

He stops after a while, turns so silent I know he’s shaken free of his nightmare. I step out into the hall and find him on the floor, pushed into the wall, knees to his chest. He has to ask if I’m okay, he has to be scared I’m not, so I turn on the lights to show him my face, to show him I was fast enough this time.  

He’s so shaky afterward, more than usual, maybe because we had such a good day he thought this wouldn’t happen again, or maybe whatever had him trapped in the hall was even scarier than what had me trapped in the office. He asks me to take him riding, we haven’t gone since he came back, only used the motorcycle as transportation.

Of course I agree, get changed quickly, put on my jacket and wait for Cain to do the same. It takes him longer, he’s moving slow, not just his leg but everything slow, his eyes heavy. We go downstairs and outside into the darkness, just the streetlights into the black, but it’s fading into grey as we get up into the hills. There aren’t any stars out now, it’s turning early, getting into dawn. The sun comes up as I’m still trying to help Cain outrace his fears, and he squeezes my waist in such a way I know he’s asking to turn back, to just go home, that it didn’t work but he’s glad I tried anyway.

So it’s a bad day, Cain gloomy and trudging around the apartment, distant and unresponsive as I hastily get ready for work. He texts me, just gibberish, a few random letters, just enough to let me know he’s there. I call him at lunch, listen to him be silent, listen to him breathe. I tell him I’ll see him when I get home. I tell him I love him, ask it like a question, so he just says, “Yeah, okay” in a way that’s so flat it hurts.

I hang up, put my hands over my face, try not to cry. Maybe it was such a good day that I was the one who thought it wouldn’t happen again. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Abel’s late, maybe stuck in traffic, happened once and I didn’t like it, so now Abel’s always early, always sitting in the little waiting room. She invites me to have a seat again, on the loveseat where it’s comfortable. We leave the door open so when Abel shows up he’ll know we’re done, that we’re waiting on him for a change.

I’m her last appointment for the day, it’s just her lunch now. She does the half-day on Saturday for clients with difficult schedules like me, because I always have to ride behind Abel, especially now that he knows about the crash. Clients, she says, never patients, just like she tells me to always call her Beth, never doctor, and sometimes we talk about things other than me, my shitty life, star of the show all the time so sometimes we go for walks where I end up cussing at her, hating her because of my awkward limp. Sit in her office in the air-conditioning afterward, talk about her square girlfriend or some movie she watched, wait for Abel.

Guess it’s not so bad, most of the time. Don’t really know, don’t really think about it, just something that happens, something I promised Abel I’d do.

But it’s one of those days where we didn’t go for a walk, it’s raining, we’ve been sitting in her office for the full hour. Don’t know where Abel is, getting later now, fifteen minutes after the hour and even she’s checking her watch and frowning. Don’t want to call Abel in front of her, don’t want to admit I’m that worried. Start pacing without realizing it, not until she asks me to sit down, sharp and stern about it. She calls Abel and leaves a message.

Thirty minutes after the hour, she can’t get me to stop pacing, I can’t stop asking her where she thinks Abel is, can’t stop asking her to call Abel. Start calling Abel myself, get his voicemail and don’t leave a message, all those messages on my phone after I left, Abel calling ask me to call him back, I’m calling Abel now and he isn’t answering, don’t leave a message just call him right back.

Not okay anymore, nothing okay, need her to stop telling me that, want to know where Abel is, forty minutes after the hour, he’s never this late, something’s happened and I know it. Abel’s not safe, something’s happened, he’s somewhere else, he isn’t here.

She’s saying, “Cain, sit down. Abel will be here soon, he’s just running late.”

To the door and back, to the aquarium and back, starting to hate this room, starting to hate her, ask her where Abel is enough times maybe she’ll tell me. Don’t hit girls but I bet she knows where Abel is, bet she’s the reason he’s not safe, Abel’s not here with me, here where it’s safe so maybe it’s not safe here, maybe Abel’s somewhere safe.

“Cain, Abel is going to meet you here. You have to stay here so Abel can find you.”

Don’t want her to be right, mad at her, have to stay here so Abel can find me, hate that she’s right, want to go looking for Abel, maybe I should go look for Abel. Ask her if we can go look for Abel, tell her we should go look for Abel, ask her where Abel is, tell her I need to find Abel, need to keep Abel safe, it isn’t safe here without Abel, Abel’s probably where it’s safe. He’s the navigator, always lying to me that’s okay, need him to come tell me it’s okay, don’t like her saying it because it’s not true, Abel’s not here.

Hour late now, something’s happened to Abel. Can’t stay on my feet anymore, leg hurts, lay on the sofa, her wicker chair drawn around close, think she’s talking but it’s not important, she isn’t telling me where Abel is, she doesn’t know where Abel is, no one knows where Abel is, calling Abel’s phone over and over and he’s not answering.  

Don’t even know how late now. Stopped trying to call Abel.

Phone vibrates. Sit up quick, nearly drop my phone, it’s vibrating around, don’t know the number.

Look at her. Face pulling wide. Probably not a pretty look.

“Do you want me to answer it?” she asks.

Twitch a snarl at her. Talk into the phone. “What?” Angry, to hide how scared I am, heart going so hard and fast, fast, fast, everything too fast because Abel’s not here.

“Sacha,” he says, breathless, tight. “Sacha, it’s Ethan. Are you okay?”

There’s a noise, guess it’s me, strangled and horrible, so relieved, Abel calling, everything okay now that Abel’s calling, can’t really think of what to say, kind of gasping about it. “Where – where the fuck are you, Abel?”

“Oh, Cain, I’m so sorry – I’m okay. I’m okay, everything’s okay. My phone broke, I would have at least texted you – Cain, baby, where are you? Are you with Dr. Warren still?”

“Yeah. And you’re supposed to be here,” I tell him. “Abel, this is where it’s safe.”

“I know, oh God, Cain, yes, good, it’s safe there. I’m so glad you’re – Cain, I’m okay. Do you understand? Everything’s fine. I need you hand to the phone to Dr. Warren for me. Is that okay?”

“No. You get your ass over here, Abel.”

Soft, under his breath, shaky, “Oh God.” Louder, slower, patient, “Cain, everything’s fine. I just need you to hand the phone over to her for a minute. Please, Cain.”

Thrust the phone out at her, scowl about it. She looks a little startled, taking the phone from me, saying politely into it, “Hello?”

Watch her face, know it’s bad, know Abel’s lying, it’s not fine, he’s not fine or he’d be here, be here with me. She can’t hide the little flashing kind of surprise before her expression smooths over, bland and unruffled. “I understand,” she says. “Certainly. No, I don’t mind. All right.”

She hands the phone to me. The screen’s blank, so I glare at her. “You hung up.”

“Cain,” she says. Ignoring my accusation. “I’m going to drive you home now.”

“Where’s Abel?”

“He’ll be home soon as well. We’ll go wait for him there.”

Sullen, sulky, fuck her for acting so calm. “I want to go where Abel is.”

“Well, that’s what we’re doing.” She stands. “I’m taking you to where Abel will be.”

Don’t have much of a choice, have to follow her out. Strange seeing her close up her little office. She asks if I’ll feed the fish, tell her to fuck off, she asks if I’ll get the lamps, I tell her to suck my dick. She tries to make a joke about it. She’s lucky I don’t like to hit girls.

Raining out, makes her hurry along like she’s afraid to get wet. Can’t hurry, gotta limp, guess I’ll get a little soaked. Get in her car. Don’t like it, smells like floral shit, stupid plastic flowers full of fragrance clipped on to the sun visors. Don’t tell her that, don’t want to talk anymore, talked enough already. Just want Abel, just want to know where he is, why he isn’t here, why he wouldn’t tell me where he was, don’t like it. Know something’s wrong, scared, don’t like it, just want Abel, need Abel.

Get to the apartment, her parking in the guest spot, going inside, don’t know why she’s following me, isn’t Wednesday, session’s over. Get in the elevator, forget some stuff, don’t know who this chick is in the lift with me, don’t know how the fuck she got on the station. Scoff about it, ask what a pretty thing like her is doing here. Says she’s from Fleet Command, says she’s here to see the Lead Fighter, asks me what the fuck I’m doing staring at her ass.

Lift stops, get out. Nothing looks familiar, not sure where I’m going. She points down the hall, tells me where to go. Guess I’ll listen to her, don’t see anyone else around giving orders.

She asks me for some keys. Tell her I don’t have them. She tells me to check my front pocket. Tell her she can do it herself, tell her there’s a surprise in there for her.

Her glaring at me, telling me to stop being a smart ass, demands that I get my fucking keys out and open the door, _don’t be a motherfucker, Cain, just get the door_.

Keys in my pocket, wonder how she knew. Open the door. Oh, pictures of me and Abel on the walls. Not really sure about, don’t think about it, try to shut the door in her face. Nearly shut the door on her face, crazy chick trying to come in after me.

Tell her to go away.

She tells me no.

Don’t really know what to say back about that. Let her in, I guess no harm in it, could probably kick her ass if I wanted a court martial over it, not going to fuck around with a bitch in from Command. Tell her to do what she wants, not going to be her date. Already got a fine piece of ass, cute little navigator with a scar—

Guess I’m confused again, waking up somewhere strange, in my apartment when the last thing I remember is looking at the aquarium, waiting for Abel. Scared for a second maybe it’s Wednesday, maybe we’re supposed to be on the balcony, makes me wonder what happened to Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. My jacket’s wet, my hair’s wet. It’s raining outside, see it soaking over the balcony rail. Wouldn’t be on the balcony like this in the rain. Hope to fuck it’s not Wednesday. Don’t like that, don’t like that at all.

Like it less when she says, “Have a seat.”

Don’t know she’s barking orders at me, not sure what the fuck I said to piss her off. My heart’s pounding, don’t like that either, feeling jittery and nervous, feeling like some bad dream, like when I’ve chased Abel into the office. Don’t like it. Confused but don’t want to tell her that.

Guess maybe she sees me looking it, looking confused. Her face softens, she says, “Sacha, why don’t you sit down? It’ll take Ethan a little while to get here.”

Stare at her. Look around the apartment. “Where’s Ethan?”

See her hesitate. She knows something. She just says, “He’ll be here soon.”

Knot my hands together. Don’t want her knowing how scared I am, how much I don’t like this. Know I’ve probably done something wrong again. Wonder if I hurt him, if he’s hurt. Want to know where he is, what happened, why I’m here in the apartment. Don’t like this.

“You can sit down,” she says.

Still got my shoes on. Wet shoes on the carpet. Abel won’t like that. Take my jacket off, take my shoes off, tell her to get on the tile or take her shoes off, tell her Abel won’t like it. Put everything away, shoes on the tile to dry, jacket hung in the bathroom. Leg hurts like I’ve been up too long, walking around except it’s raining, she’s not in those tight pants, don’t remember going walking, just remember talking.

Sit like she suggests, get my leg up on the cushions, little twitches as the sore muscles protest before relaxing out. Try asking again, think maybe it’ll work. “Hey, Beth, come on – where’s Ethan, huh?”

She checks her watch, idle and relaxed, standing on the tile in the kitchen. “He’s on his way.”

Think about chucking one of the little throw pillows at her bland expression, smack the calm right off her face, make her feel frantic because I feel frantic. Sit and sit, too nervous to do anything, tell her no when she suggests I watch something.

Hear Abel’s keys, get up so fast it hurts, nearly brings me right back down again. Rush at the door, bang my knee off the coffee table and swear, horrible, mangled, incoherent profanity, don’t even fucking care because Abel’s realized it’s unlocked, pushed the door open.

“Sacha—!“ Wide-eyed, still holding the door, drawing back some when he sees me coming at him. “Sacha, wait a second, don’t—“

Do what he says, slow down some, hate that he’s looking scared, hate that he’s looking hurt. He’s got his right arm in a sling, he looks beaten and exhausted about it, he’s trying to carry a handled bag and open the door, keep the door closed, using the door like a shield.

She’s there, too, getting at me without touching me. “Sacha, it’s okay.”

Hate that they’re both tense and wary, hate it, don’t know what else to do, want Abel to get inside, want to know what happen. Nod, nod a whole bunch, back away from the door so Abel pushes it open, comes into the apartment. Get at him slow, wanting to help take some of the things from his hands. “Ethan, what happened? Are you okay?”

See him look visibly relieved, see his eyes flash over to Beth. He lets me take some of the things. He’s wet, hair wet, sling wet, shirt wet. No jacket, where he’s jacket? It’s inside the bag, lots of things inside the bag, papers and something that rattles.

“I’m okay, Sacha,” he says. More like a sigh. He looks so tired, so ragged, something’s wrong, his arm’s in a sling. “Thanks for staying,” he says to her. “It’s fine now.”

They talk a bit more about nothing important, nothing that involves him telling me what happened  but lots of them talking around me without actually admitting I’m the topic of conversation. She’s upset about something, letting it show, telling Abel that this is a bad idea, Abel telling her that it’s fine, that she can leave. Keep quiet, don’t like that they’re tense. Stand there holding the bag until she leaves.

It’s just me and Abel, and he turns into me slightly, puts his hand on my arm. He looks pale, tired, voice strained when he says, “I’m okay, Sacha.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what the fuck happened?”

It makes him smile some, wan and thin. His hand tightens into me, the smile dropping into nothing, gaze wavering in such a way it’s clear he doesn’t feel well. “I – Sacha, I need, I need to – Let’s go to the bedroom?”

He sways into me some, so it’s a fucked up sort of thing where I have to limp and try to help him along at the same time. He’s getting more unsteady by the second. He sucked it up long enough to fake out Beth, pretend he was better about things than he really was. Takes me a second to figure it out, getting my arms under his knees, against his back.

“Don’t – my shoulder,” he says, warning me. Not fucking stupid, see the sling plain enough. Go slow and careful about it, his arm around my neck to help, lift him up easy enough. Bit awkward with the limp, leg hurts like hell, ignore it and try to keep steady, thigh can burn and shake all it wants, I’m not dropping him.

Get him on the bed, see him sigh again, brush a hand over his forehead like he’s dizzy. “I just need to lie down,” he says, like it’s an apology.

Tell him, “Wait, your shoes,” like it fucking matters. Hurts like fire to kneel, do it anyway, get his wet shoes off for him, take his wet socks off as well.

“Thanks,” he says. Voice soft, trembling, he’s been holding it together and maybe starting to come apart.

“Dammit, Ethan…” Start cross, angry, easier than admitting I’m scared. See him fumbling at the sodden button and zipper on his jeans, shoo his hands away. Get his soaked pants off for him, so he can scoot into the headboard, lean up against it.

“S’fine, Sacha. Come here.” He puts his arm out for me, not the one in the sling, obviously, but his good one. He gets to have a good arm, I have a bad leg, it’s a hysterical sort of thought to think what that makes us together. Ease up next to him, don’t want to hurt him, he’s clearly in pain enough already.

He starts slow with it, tells me first his shoulder’s been dislocated and set back already, wasn’t that bad, just needs some time to heal. Tells me he was driving home from dropping me off, got caught in the rain, hate when he rides the motorcycle in the rain. Tells me it wasn’t his fault, tells me the car wasn’t going fast, swinging wide into the parking lot at the same time he turned in, hurt his shoulder in the fall, they gave him something to help him relax, to help with the pain, nothing else wrong with him, just needs some time to heal.

“My phone broke in the crash, it took a while to find one to borrow. I’m so sorry, you must have been worried.” He strokes his fingers into my hair.

Should say something snappish, scold him for being out in the rain. Don’t do it, don’t want to, just want to lay next to him and wait for my heart to stop racing, wait for the motion of his fingers into my hair to slow, wait until everything’s calm and quiet. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I take Monday as a sick day because I’m still feeling out of sorts from the crash, and Tuesday as well for the same reason, but also because Cain won’t let me out of his sight. It isn’t like I can go very far. Sunday I’m a bit too woozy to get out of bed, wretched about it, my whole arm sore and aching, my body stiff and beaten from the rough tumble into the wet cement. My green and white motorcycle jacket, the one that Cain liked so much, is scrubbed raw across the elbow and shoulder. Better the jacket than my skin, at least.

Cain’s sweet about it, bringing me ice packs, fetching me cereal and sandwiches when I ask – cold things, I wrack my brain thinking of meals that won’t run the risk of him forgetting the timer and setting off the smoke alarm. I sleep most of the time, or try to, watch the television without really seeing it, drowsy and muddle-headed from painkillers. Cain stays close, anxious about everything, trying not to show it, but he’s quiet, eyes heavy, pressed near to me so I put my hand through his hair when I’m awake, try to soothe him without saying anything.

When I crawl out of bed on Monday, try to sit in the office for a bit to tap at some work anyway, he follows after me, leans against my desk, makes me so worried that I give up, let him help me back into bed. That afternoon Cain starts calling me Abel, asks if my injury’s going to drop us in the rankings, tells me he’ll get the bastards who hurt me.  

That night I make up an excuse about wanting a change of scenery, go stretch out on the sofa. I don’t want Cain to know it’s because I’m scared he’ll have a nightmare, try shaking me awake like he does sometimes, or worse, what I don’t want to think about, how I’ll ever be able to hold the office door closed feeling like this. Cain follows after me, can’t let me out of his sight, so I go back into the bedroom with him. Might as well be comfortable, the sofa was murder on my shoulder anyway. I lay awake for half the night, exhausted but unable to sleep, flinching every time Cain shifts in his sleep.

Tuesday he’s a little better, back to knowing I’m Ethan now, not as confused about what’s happening. Still anxious, unable to leave me alone, trying to take care of me in a way that’s almost aggressive, not letting me up without him hovering, snapping and scolding at me to sit down, lay down, put ice on my shoulder and rest. It’s a bit overwhelming, I don’t know what to do, I’ve started to spook myself thinking about what-ifs.

It happens in the evening, when I’m walking into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Cain’s next to me, acting like he’s going to have to carry me again, hovering so it makes me anxious, makes me skittish. I don’t even know what triggers it, maybe nothing, because there’s no warning when Cain turns into me, grabs at me like he’s going to take me down.

“My shoulder!” I shriek it. Panic, shove at Cain, try to fend him off.

It doesn’t work, he still puts me on the floor, slams me right down into the carpet. Pain radiates through my joint and into my arm so that I gasp, choke on how much it hurts. I turn into a moaning, writhing, agonized thing trapped beneath Cain, who just snarls, “Abel! Stay down!”

I can feel Cain, tense and shaking, straining to hunch himself over me. I’m panicking all the worse because I need to calm down, need to calm Cain down. “Unngh—” I can’t breathe around the pain, can’t talk, chest hitching into dry sobs, almost heaving with nausea.

And then as fast as it happened, he’s scrambling off me. “Oh shit, oh shit, Ethan – Ethan, no, oh fuck—“

I groan at him, unable to form real words. I curl to my side, sob into the carpet without actually crying.

“Oh, fuck, Ethan – I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” I feel him touch at my face, my hip, so worried and scared that he’s shuddering, lightly trembling his fingers at me. I hear his breath spiral into unsteadiness, he’s gasping out his apologies.

I have to stop whining into the carpet. I have to get myself under control. It’s fine, it’s going to be fine, there’s numb starting to takeover the pain, ache replacing agony, it’s fading, he’s stopped, I need to stop as well, I need to calm down and get Cain calmed down.

“M’okay,” I gasp. I carefully feel at my shoulder, grit my teeth and really prod at it, test the joint just a little by trying to flex it. It’s too much, entirely too much, it hurts so fucking much. I get lightheaded, pin-prick sweat across the back of my neck, everything shimmery and strange. I try to do something about it, realize a split-second too late what’s going to happen, what the sudden swell of vertigo means. I can’t do anything more than choke, heave, turn my head to the side and puke right into the carpet. My shoulder is out of its socket again.

“Oh, no, no, no. Ethan, no—“ Cain lifts me a little, positions me away from where I’ve been sick.

“S’okay,” I tell him. I have to swallow in order to clear my mouth enough to talk, and it’s so awful that I gag, nearly throw up again. Cain jolts to his feet, moves faster than he should with his leg. I hear him in the kitchen, running the faucet, jerking open cabinets, and then he’s rushing back, spilling most the water out of the cup as he awkwardly kneels down again, arms full so it’s a harsh landing, probably awful on his leg the way he crashes to his knees.

“Ethan, no, please, I’m so sorry.” He’s stumbling over the words, moaning at me in horror. He’s doing some of the right things at least, not so panicked that he doesn’t know to be gentle, to help me sit up enough to drink. He brought a second cup, so I can rinse my mouth, spit and spit until it’s okay, less vile. He puts a cloth over my face, cleaning me, still shaking but oddly steady, reassuring.

“I’m okay,” I say. “Sacha, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he says. “Ethan, you’re hurt, I hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean to, it was an accident.” I’m probably going into shock, judging by the tipsy-drunk sort of way I’m starting to level out and become calm. It hurts so much, just like after the bike wreck, the straining muscles in my arm turning twitchy and strange with the way the bone’s twisted wrong.

I’m not okay, we both know it, but I have to keep Cain calm about it, keep him here with me. I can’t do this if he tries to leave, I need him here with me. I dig my hand into his arm, like I’d ever be able to hold him back if he tries to leave, not when Cain’s already regained most of his strength, when he could carry me so easily the other day. I feel woozy from pain like I might throw up again.

Cain’s got a hand against my back, helping me sit up, and I can’t help but worry over the strain on his leg with the way he’s kneeling. He turns round eyes at me. “Is your shoulder—?”

I nod a little. “Give me your phone so I can call a cab.”

“Ambulance,” he says. “You need—“

“No,” I shake my head. Loud sirens, flashing lights, strangers coming into the apartment to take me away from Cain, not letting him ride in the ambulance with me, maybe letting him ride and then more sirens and lights and strangers, people keeping Cain away from me – I’m dizzy with it, feeling panicked, sweat across my brow again. I have to speak very small, the words from far away, like I’m the one gone off somewhere lost. “Please, Sacha, call a cab.”

He does it, tells them it’s urgent. I get him to help me to my feet, where I lurch around a little unsteady until he sets me on the sofa. He puts on his jacket, finds me some socks and then my shoes. He winces terribly, leg jittery as he goes down, gets to the floor to help me with my shoes.  It takes him forever to get back up again, pushing at the table, leg acting like it won’t support him. He snag one of the fleece blankets we use when watching movies, folds it in half, and wraps it around me very carefully. I can’t put on a jacket with my shoulder and he’s afraid it’ll be cold outside. I’m shivering a little already, woozy and sick, hurting all over. The blanket’s nice. He’s nice, gentle as he brushes at my hair and puts a hand under my elbow. He’s so concerned, so anxious, wretched with guilt as he helps me back to my feet.

“Keys?” I ask. “Wallet?” I try to think of what else we’ll need, what else needs to be done.

“Got them,” he says. Low and rumbling, just something reassuring against how dizzy and sick I feel. He supports me a little, helping me along into the hall, down to the elevator. He has to lean against the wall, but I lean against him anyway, he lets me press into his side where I can shiver, try to leach warmth from him.

He puts his arm over me, arranges the blanket a bit more, excruciatingly careful not to get anywhere near my misshapen shoulder. “Ethan… I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s – it’s okay. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He doesn’t say anything, but it’s not okay and we both know it. Cain’s guilt becomes a thick, tangible presence in the elevator with us, something wrapped over him just like the blanket’s wrapped over me. I don’t know what else to say, what I can possibly say. I’m a bit too fuzzy-headed to think, but I have to, I have to stay calm and work this out.

“I’ll say that I tripped,” I tell him. The words come out a bit thick, smoothing out as I go. “I’ll tell them I tripped, fell, knocked my shoulder out of place. You stay here. I’ll take a cab back, it’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says. “I’m going with you.”

The elevator doors open, and I’m starting to get weak-kneed again, lightheaded, blurry around in a sideways kind of walking. Cain scoops me up like it’s nothing, carries me across the lobby, the limp making me nervous, making me afraid he’ll drop me, hurt himself, overexert his leg. There’s a little bench right outside where he takes me, so we can sit and wait for the cab.

“Stay here,” I tell Cain. “Go back upstairs, baby, I’ll be fine.”

“No,” he says. Absolute and final.

I could cry, thinking about what I’ll do if we get to the hospital and Cain doesn’t like it, if he gets confused, if something happens. If they start asking questions, if Cain’s guilt makes him confess. I know it's better if I go alone, but I want him there so desperately, want him to stay with me like this, be gentle and take care of me, let him be the strong one for once. And then I do start to cry, just weakly, sniveling out all my hurt and fear, unable to handle this so I just break down slightly, lose my hard-won calm.

Cain kisses my cheek, snarls at me to stop crying, “Fucking hate it when you cry.”

“I know, I know—“ Whining it at him, rubbing my palm into my eyes. I’m hurt, I’m scared, I just want this to be over, I just want more good days, I just want everything to be okay when it’s not. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Hurt Abel. Abel’s hurt. My fault. Don’t like it, hate it, hate myself, hate that Abel’s hurt. Can’t do anything about it, know it’d hurt him more if I did, just have to stay with him, tell him I’m sorry. Know he needs me now, know he’s not okay even though he’s lying to me like always. Him wrapped in a blanket, one shoulder lopsided and terrible, crying in a way that’s messy and broken, way that hurts me because he’s hurt.

Kiss him so he’s soft, help him into the cab, stay focused on what’s happening, stay focused on Abel, have to help Abel, have to keep Abel safe even though it’s my fault.

Get to the hospital, get Abel inside, get a datapad full of forms to start filling out. Abel tries to do it, tell him not to fucking move, get the blanket around him a better, think he might be cold since he’s shivering. Got Abel’s wallet, little insurance card, going to fill out this fucking form for Abel, stay focused on filling out the form, don’t like the way the hospital smells like medical, Abel hurt, it’s okay, Abel’s right next to me, fill out the fucking form, stay focused.

Turn in the form, go back to sit with Abel. He’s pale and sickly looking, wonder if he’s going to throw up again. Ask him if he wants me to find something, go get a bowl or a handful of conical paper cups from the water cooler, tell him the carpet’s probably seen worse, try to make him smile but he just looks scared, hate seeing Abel look so scared. Take his hand in mine, the hand that’s not hurt, put his hand between my palms and hold him like that, let him know it’s okay, I get to be the liar this time.

Someone comes to get him with a wheelchair, they’re going to take Abel to fix him, don’t like that they’re going to take Abel, have to stay focused, not medical, not medical but a hospital, have to let them take Abel, not medical, it’s okay.

See he’s scared, see the way his eyes flash back and forth. He asks if I can come with him. They look ready to refuse, shifting awkwardly thinking about policy, and Abel blurts out about the papers we signed, how it’s legal. Makes it so I get to come with him, hold his hand and feel a bit silly for it except he’s clutching on to me so tight, he’s so scared, he’s hurt and it’s my fault, I hurt Abel. Hold his hand. Stay focused.

Go into a little room with Abel. Keep quiet, let Abel talk, just stay near Abel like he wants, like he needs, don’t say anything. They give Abel something for the pain, something to make him relax. Makes his eyes droop, makes him look sad and scared, all the more hurt even though it’s supposed to make him feel better.  

Hold Abel’s hand when it happens, when they reset his shoulder, when his eyes roll back at the noise and he whimpers, whines, squeezes my hand so hard it hurts. He’s hurt, they hurt Abel, don’t like that, can’t do anything about it, stay the fuck focused on holding Abel’s hand.

“S’okay, Sacha,” he breathes. Weak about it, eyes half closed, trembling. “Sacha, m’okay.”

See the nurse hide a smile, kind of want to punch her for it. Not cute, Abel hurt like this, scared like this, trying to lie to me when I’m the one supposed to lie to him. Don’t say anything, know Abel doesn’t want me to say anything, have to let him tell them it was an accident, we just have a lot of accidents, not an accident when I crashed the bike, we know they’re not accidents but just have to say they are.

Stay focused, hold Abel’s hand, stay near Abel where it’s safe, where I can make him safe. Get him transferred from the little room to a curtained off bed, somewhere for him to be limp and wounded, maybe unconscious for a while. I have to stand there holding his hand still, nowhere to lean against except the bed so keep standing, shift my weight as best I can without leaning.

Abel has to go get x-rays, maybe his shoulder’s hurt worse. They let me follow, can’t stay with Abel all the way there but I can see him when they do it, take the pictures of his shoulder. Lots of standing and walking following Abel around, back to the curtained room again. Leg hurts, leg hurts so much, twitchy and jittery, nurse sees me limping and finds me a stool. Smiles like she thinks it’s cute when I start holding Abel’s hand again. Feel him scratch at my palm, see his eyes stir like he’s awake, he knows I’m here so that’s okay.

Make him lie there for a while, limp and drifting unconscious and back. Someone comes and starts to tell me things, stay focused, have to listen, stay focused, have to understand what they’re saying. Abel’s okay, shoulder’s okay, they got him back together again, Abel’s hurt, needs rest, stay the fuck focused. Handing me a papers, asking me questions, I’m responsible for Abel because of those papers we signed. Have to say something, guess it works, nurse smiling like it’s cute. Little bottles of pills, instructions, stay focused. Take care of Abel. Keep him safe.

Wait for Abel to wake up, wait for him to be okay, they say I can take him home when he’s awake. Abel hears them, slurs out that he is awake, doesn’t sound like it, don’t like that, don’t like Abel sounding hurt. Stay focused, not medical, just Abel, Abel’s okay.

Nurse puts Abel back into a wheelchair, pushes him outside to a cab. Nurse smiling like it’s cute when I help Abel into the seat, buckle him in. Sit next to Abel, pull money from Abel’s wallet to pay for the taxi, help Abel out of the backseat. Abel weak and clumsy, carry him to the elevator, inside, shit my leg hurts, leg twisted up and hurting, don’t think about it, stay focused, going to get Abel into bed, make him rest, get ice like they said, keep Abel safe.

He’s slurring into my shoulder, drowsy and thick from what they gave him to relax. “Sacha, s’okay. M’okay, baby.”

Not okay, just him lying again. Not okay that I hurt Abel, hated waking up with Abel under me ashen-faced and moaning, sobbing, hurt so terribly. Didn’t mean to. Don’t think about that, stay focused, get Abel into the apartment, put Abel on the bed.

Help Abel with his shoes, socks, pants. Bring Abel his toothbrush and two cups, one with water, one to spit into, don’t want Abel walking around anymore, leg hurting so bad I can’t carry him anymore. Ask him if he needs anything else, makes him smile finally, makes him look ready to cry. Don’t like that. Was just trying to be helpful.

“S’fine,” he says.

Soft and small, already fumbling into the pillows. Help him with that, too, pull the covers back so he can get under them, help him get the pillows around where he’s comfortable. Touch at his forehead, put the back of my hand into his cheek, feel real fucking terrible that he’s hurt, that I hurt him.

Must show it on my face, I must look as miserable as I feel. He shakes his head at me and says, “S’okay, Sacha. Baby, m’okay.” All small and slurring, beaten with exhaustion, must have hurt worse to have his shoulder popped out and popped back in after he’d already had it done the once.

Devastated like when Reliant died. Sit next to him on the bed, stroke his cheek so he’ll go to sleep, need him to rest so he’ll get better. Don’t know what to do, don’t like what’s happened, don’t like that I’ve hurt him. Going to hurt him again, he’s already hurt, I’ve gotten strong again, I can carry him. Good for when I need to keep him safe, bad because it means he can’t keep himself safe from me. I’m the only thing he needs protection from anymore.

Abel nudges his face into my hand, eyes closed, just whispering, lips moving into my skin. “Love you, Sacha. Everything s’fine.”

Fucking going to cry like when I killed Reliant, him flapping around in my hands, Abel pushing his little nose into my wrist. Fucking devastated. Don’t like this.

Have to do something. Don’t know what.

Don’t want to hurt Abel.

Sit and watch Abel. Think about it.

Pull my hand off him. Start to slide to the edge of the bed.

Abel shifting, eyes fluttering open, trying to sit up but can’t, trying to get his good arm under himself but can’t, weak and hurt. “Sacha— where?” Scared.

Get back over to him, push at him. “Stop it, Ethan. Get some fucking rest, it’s fine.”

He’s too panicked, clutching at me, fingers like claws into my wrist. Wide awake now, jittery and frantic, incoherent with speed rather than slowness. “Don’t go,” he says. “Sacha, please, promise me, promise me you’ll stay. You didn’t mean to hurt me, it’s okay, everything’s fine, don’t—“

Going to start crying again, he’s getting choked with it, so fucking scared. “Okay,” I tell him. Anything so he won’t cry again. I stroke his hair, kiss his soft lips. “Calm the fuck down.”

Doesn’t work, he does start crying, weak and scared and probably hating it. “I’m sorry,” he says. Sobbing it now, rapidly starting to lose the words into wetness. “Oh, Sacha, please, I’m so sorry, don’t go. It’s not your fault. I’m okay.” He breaks over it, desolate enough that his shoulders try to shake, chest tries to hitch, and it’s only hurting him all the worse, making him whine and whimper in a way I hate.

“Shut up.” Because I don’t know what else to say, he’s making me feel panicky and helpless. I put my fingers through his hair, harder, faster, frantic with trying to make him stop crying because it’s hurting him, hurting me. “Fucking hell, Ethan, cut it out.” Voice shaky, still feeling devastated, need him to stop crying right now, stop crying before I start, don’t fucking like this, hate feeling this way, scared and hurt like he’s scared and hurt.

Kiss him, kiss him so he can’t breathe, can’t sob. Kiss him until he whimpers against my lips in a different way, until his fingers trail up my arm in a way that’s nice, less frantic. Put my tongue into him, tighten my fingers into his hair, fuck him with my mouth like this, friction and heat that’s kissing, that’s good. Get him to calm the fuck down with it.

“I’m just going into the other room,” I tell him. “Is that okay, princess?” Real snippy about it, biting the words out with arching sarcasm even though I mean them, I’m being serious, want him to know it’s okay.

Not leaving, can’t leave Devastate us both if I tried, not going to be like that year I left, put all this fear and pain into Abel, need Abel just as much as he needs me, I guess, don’t know if he needs me or just wants me. Need him, want him, never told him but he should know it’s true, he should know why I came back, why I’ll stay if he asks.

He nods, looking sheepish about it, meek, maybe a little embarrassed about weeping now that he’s stopped. “Sorry,” he says. He relaxes into the pillows, winces until it’s comfortable. Abel looking at me shy, looking pretty and cute, maybe a little less scared and hurt. He watches me get off the bed, go slow about it, lean heavily into the nightstand and drag myself up.

Abel calls after me, “Sacha?

Turn at the door. “What?”

He puts his eyes down. “I love you.”

Know he’s feeling scared when he keeps saying it, always says it when he’s scared, always sounds scared when he says it. First told me right before I got discharged, saying a shitty goodbye, always shit at saying goodbyes. Abel looking ready to cry, saying his goodbye, telling me he loves me and asking it like a question, sounding scared, never going to see me again, going to give him another Cain to replace the broken one, the one with a mangled leg. Abel saying it again later, going to the colonies to find me, asking me to come live with him.

Say to Abel, “Yeah, okay.”  Thinking like maybe he ought to know what that means.

Limp into the hall, leg really fucking hurts, have to lean into the wall and keep the weight off it. Get into the office, sink slowly into Abel’s swivel chair. Wait for my leg to stop twitching, so fucking jittery. Should have thought to get the heating pad.

Take out my phone. New phone, Abel gave it to me. Barely any numbers in it, easy enough to find the one I want. Check the time, try to do math, can’t. Fuck it. Call anyway.

Few rings, better not go to voicemail. Shit at leaving messages, almost as bad as goodbyes.

“Hello?” His sleepy rasp, even sleepier, must have gotten the time wrong after all.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“I know,” he says.

Right. Stupid of me, know he hates talking on the phone just as much as anything, says a lot that he even answered. Abel must have texted him the new number, or maybe I did and just don’t remember. Decide not to worry about it.

Say, “Aleks, I need a favor,” because I already know he’ll agree. 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I’m lying in bed floating on a lot of sedatives when Dr. Warren comes knocking. I’ve been home all day, wasn’t even going to try to go to work the rest of the week, and she’s here to sit on the balcony with Cain same as always. I’ve lost track of most of the day, actually, a bit drugged out and woozy, so I startle some at the sound of her knocking.

Cain’s helped me build a small fortress of pillows so I’m comfortable, turned a bit on my side, the my right in the sling to rest my shoulder. The ice pack he brought me just before their session makes everything numb, but not as much as the sedatives. I’m supposed to be more careful this time, in light of my fall, according to the hospital.

I guess Cain’s being careful, he wasn’t in the bed when I went to sleep or when I woke up, so that it actually scared me. I started calling out for him, made him come limping in to reassure me. It makes it a little lonely, lying by myself in bed all day, Cain just popping in to change out the ice, bring me food, refill my water bottle, help me up to use the restroom, sit with me for a bit before wandering off again.

The doctor comes in and stands by the bed. I feel silly that I don’t have a seat to offer her, flustered that I’m just wearing a flannel button-up shirt of Cain’s, set loose around my shoulders and barely buttoned. I grip the edge of the blankets and bring them a little higher on my chest.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah—“ It comes out hoarse, thick, so I clear my throat and try to sit up a little more, look less like an invalid. I ought to offer her a chair but there isn’t one.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Oh, uh, fine, yeah?” I sound entirely unreal and have to try smiling, inexplicably nervous. “Sorry, I’m a bit—“ I loop my hand near my temple.

She frowns, sympathy marring her normally smooth expression. “Would you like to talk about what happened?” she asks quietly.

And I realize Cain must have told her about last night, about him pushing me to the floor and how my shoulder rolled out of its socket again. I never would have thought I’d regret Cain being so honest and open in therapy. I should be thrilled that he’s responded to her, confided in her, that everything honestly seems to be helping in small ways. Cain’s so much more responsive now, he seems more stable – I’m panicking at the idea of her thinking all the wrong things, thinking that Cain’s a threat, that Cain would ever purposefully try to hurt me. He loves me, I know Cain loves me even though he never says it, all he ever wants to do is protect me, keep me safe.

It’s a tense moment where she’s just looking at me, and I’m not saying anything.

Finally I slowly shake my head. “No,” I tell her. “I’m fine, Thank you.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while, and then, “You need to consider your safety, Ethan.”

“I am safe,” I tell her.

We stare at each other for a moment. My heart’s pounding, but I try to look relaxed, easygoing like we aren’t having this conversation with me in a sling piled up on pillows, bleary-eyed from sedatives. Cain only put me on the ground to protect me. I just have to be more careful until my shoulder heals, until it won’t be a problem. I can handle Cain. I’m not afraid of him hurting me, and he doesn’t do it on purpose.

“All right,” she says at last. “Will I still see Sacha on Saturday?”

The bike won’t be fixed by then, but I wouldn’t be able to drive even if that weren’t the case. “If he takes a taxi over, would you mind dropping him off again?”

She frowns, so I think I’ve pushed my luck, but there’s already a slow leak from my budget. At least my insurance will pay for the repairs to the motorcycle.

“I can do that,” she says. “Take care, Ethan.”

It’s more like a warning than anything. I sink deep into the pillows once she’s left, indulging in some well-earned despair and panic. Cain comes in not long after that to check the ice pack, sit with me for a bit, kiss my forehead in a way that’s sweet. He disappears again afterward, so that I hear unidentifiable sounds from the rest of the apartment, heavy dragging and Cain cursing.

I think I’m somewhat sleeping when he comes around again to check on me, replacing the icepack and refilling my water, making me eat something so I can take another dose of the sedative. He sits with me for a while this time, idly watching whatever nonsense I’ve got the television turned over to. I wasn’t paying attention at all, vaguely unable to follow even the simplest programming. Cain’s phone goes off, vibrating all around, he never sets it to ring, and honestly I think it startles me more than him.

He ducks out of the room for the conversation, so all I hear is, “Hello? Oh. Good. Okay.” He comes right back in and says to me, “Be right back.”

His words take a moment to sink in, so he’s already out the door when I think to say anything. “Sacha – wait, where are you—?” But he’s already gone, doesn’t come back when I call after him, “Sacha? Sacha!”

Worry drives me out of the bed, sends me sliding out of my pillow mountain. It’s a bit tricky, shifting my weight around while keeping my shoulder still, dodging the aches and pains as best I can. I stagger a little, legs gone silly from the sedative. I’m not supposed to be up around, that’s whole point of this, but I can’t help but be anxious in light of everything. Maybe it’s the medication that makes me feel this way, makes me jittery, makes me sway out into the hall in search of Cain.

I reach the entry at about the same time as the door opens. I’ve been going slow, each step a little tricky, aware of the irony if I really did trip and fall now after everything. So it’s a strange sort of moment where I’m standing in the entry in just my underwear and the poorly buttoned borrowed shirt of Cain’s, and Cain is in the doorway with Deimos, of all people, over his shoulder.

If Deimos finds this strange, I can’t tell from his expression. I certainly find it strange. I find it very strange indeed, and embarrassing, and alarming – infuriating, confusing. There are so many things about this situation that I do not like.

Cain clearly does not like it as well. He says, “What are you doing up?” He comes toward me, anxious and eager, so that I actually take a half-step back. It makes him slow, mirror my anxiety, gently take hold on my good arm at the elbow.

Deimos steps into our home. He has a large duffel over his shoulder, so I have a glimmering sort of suspicion but nothing definite, but it sends me into a slight panic nevertheless. All I can think about – and it’s hopelessly petty of me, I know it’s petty – all I can think is that Cain slept with Deimos, Cain and Deimos fucked on the Sleipnir, when Cain and I were together, when I fell in love with Cain. And he didn’t love me back, I know that, I tell him and he never tells me, but I know he has to love me now, even if he didn’t before.

I’ve gone woozy from the sedation, weak and silly, unable to do much more than fluster, “He-hello, Aleks.”

Cain’s got my arm, scowling about it. “Ethan, get back into bed. You look ready to faint.”

“Do I?” And it does sound quite small, quite feeble.

Deimos lets his bag slip from his shoulder and comes forward, gets closer to Cain than he does to me. I’ve never quite understood Deimos, never quite been able to figure him out, mystified by his silence and the seemingly odd devotion he has to Cain. And they slept together, he’s had sex with Cain, and I suddenly have an entirely too much understanding of what’s in Deimos’ pale eyes as he frowns at me, looks like he’s concerned as well, like I’m not half-naked and dizzy.

“G-get out,” I say. The words are so nothing they’re barely mine, they’re barely words at all.

I’m not even sure they hear me. Cain tries to usher me away from the entry and down the hall, Deimos just trails after us with his silent, watchful sort of way, and, oh, I don’t feel well at all, so my knees go weak and I start down, making Cain have to catch at me. He manages it without jostling my shoulder only by virtue of letting me go, letting me puddle to the floor.

Deimos slept with Cain, and now Deimos is in my house, in our home, kneeling next to me with his small hands and delicate features, his pretty sort of smile even though he isn’t smiling now, he looks just as worried as Cain. Between the two of them, they get me back to my feet so Cain can lift me into his arms. I fall against his neck, my left arm draping over his back.

“What’s he doing here?” I ask Cain. Directly into his ear, whispering, pleading at him.

I’m not sure if Cain’s ignoring me or if he just didn’t hear me, but I suspect it’s the former. He says to Deimos, “Grab your bag, I’ll show you where to put it.”

I can’t do anything other than let Cain carry back to bed. He points Deimos toward the office, and I glance briefly to see that Cain’s already rearranged the furniture to clear a large bare patch of carpet. Rectangular. Bed-shaped.

“Sacha.” I try to sound firm, try not to sound frantic. Cain nudges through the bedroom door and lowers me to the bed. “Sacha, what is he doing here?”

Cain looks at me for a moment, scowling and nervous, I can tell he’s nervous. He steps over to the door and calls out, “Go ahead and set the mattress up, Aleks.” He closes the door and turns to me.

“What’s going on?” I ask him. Alarmed now, not liking it, wondering blearily if there’s something I’ve missed, wondering hysterically if this is how Cain feels all the time.

He crosses to the bed, urging me back into the pillows. I only go along with it because it seems more comfortable than sitting there at the edge, because I’m feeling shaky from even my short little adventure to the other end of the apartment and back. Cain sits close, fussing at the pillows, glaring at them even as his hands are gentle.

“He’s here to keep you safe,” Cain says at last. Snarls it at me, sulking, because he doesn’t want to come close to admitting he can’t keep me safe, that maybe he’s what Deimos is here to keep me safe from.

It’s a bit confusing, a bit surprising, more than a bit heartbreaking. “Oh,” I say.

Cain sits back some, puts his hands into his lap and sneers at the long, graceful lines of his knotted fingers. “Until your arm’s better,” he says. “I’ll sleep with Aleks in the office.”

If I thought I could land the blow without doing myself more harm than actually hurting him, I’d punch Cain. Knock him right off the bed and pummel him senseless in a petty, jealous fury. “No,” I say.

“Ethan.” His shoulders hunch, like he knows what accusation I want to throw, like it’s already hurting him even though I haven’t said anything. “What if I hurt you again?”

The way he says it evaporates all my anger, leaves me breathless and empty, feeling close to crying. “Oh, Sacha. No, baby, you—“

“It doesn’t matter if I don’t mean to do it,” Cain snaps. He shows a lot of teeth with it, furious, mad at himself more than anything. “It just matters that it happens. I sent you to the fucking hospital last night.”

“You were only trying to—“

“Abel, shut up!” I flinch back into the pillows. Cain’s nostrils flare as he breathes deep, visibly struggles to calm himself, maybe find his way back to me. I hold still like it matters, like maybe he won’t see me, like maybe I’m scared. He says through grit teeth, “It’s this or I have to leave.”

I clutch at his arm, and I think he might shake me off of him, so I start to flinch back. He doesn’t, though, he puts his hand over mine without looking at me. He glares sideways at the floor. “I don’t want to have to leave,” he snarls. He shifts his eyes over at me, scowls darkly, dares me to say something about it.

I don’t, I swallow my words, nod slowly. “Okay,” I say. “But we sleep together.”

Cain doesn’t like that, says it defeats the whole point. We go around in circles about it the whole rest of the day, with Deimos just quietly wandering around the apartment, appearing in the doorway when Cain’s in the bedroom with me, otherwise unseen and silent. I can hear them talking sometimes, or rather I can hear Cain talking, cursing, bites of Russian punctuated by laughs. I’m wildly jealous but grudgingly pleased at the same time, so it’s very confusing and miserable.

Deimos is in the doorway again, because Cain’s sitting on the bed with me, and we’re arguing in a low, hushed kind of awkward way so maybe Deimos can pretend not to overhear. I’m trying to insist that Cain sleep in the bed with me, mostly trying to insist that he not go share the inflatable mattress that Deimos brought along and, presumably, has set up in our office, in our home.

I end up losing the argument, Cain leaves me alone in the bed and storms out, yelling profanity in a mix of languages. Deimos stays in the doorway looking at me, hooded eyes like he’s sleepy, always so quiet and bewildering so I can’t tell what he’s thinking, why he’s looking at me like that. I see his shoulders lift and lower before he turns away, follows after Cain.

I’m incorrigibly stubborn about it the next day, impossibly sulky, so mad at Cain I can’t think straight, so unbelievably frustrated that he’s both trying to do the right thing and somehow being so absolutely _dense_. Or maybe he knows it, maybe I’m being harsh, which is how I feel when he sits next to me, puts his fingers through my hair – with Deimos in the hall just outside the door, watching, so I’m back to being cross, shrugging away Cain’s affection.

By Friday night I’m about ready to kick Deimos out, about ready to yell at Cain and not stop, when it happens, when I’m in the kitchen putting away the dishes with one hand, awkward and stupid about it, and I hear Cain storming through the apartment. Yelling for Abel. Wanting to know where we’ve put Abel.

I drop a plate straight on to the floor, broken ceramic everywhere, heart-thudding as Cain gets around the sofa. I’ve got nowhere to go unless I jump the counter, try to get the table between us. That’s normally what I’d do, dodge and weave around the furniture until I can get into the office, get the door between us and hold it shut, yell at Cain that I’m Abel until he comes back to me.

I see Deimos coming in from the hall at a run. It’s not until that moment I’ve even considered the fact that Deimos is so much smaller than Cain, Deimos is smaller than me even, how the hell is Deimos going to do anything against Cain? And then Deimos barrels in after Cain, slams into him and knocks him straight to the ground.

I stay by the sink, surrounded by the broken shards of the plate, frozen in place and listening to Cain’s snarls. Eventually I start to edge out of the kitchen, I should still try for the office for when Cain throws Deimos off of him. Deimos is so much smaller than Cain, so now I’m terrified he’s going to get hurt, that this has been a terrible idea from the start.

The two of them are thrashing across the floor in front of the balcony doors. One of them hits against the glass, either Cain or Deimos, I can’t tell, Cain’s yelling but Deimos isn’t making a single sound. He’s going to get hurt, Cain’s going to hurt him. Suddenly Cain’s shouts turn into yelps, whines. Deimos has Cain twisted into the carpet now, arm knotted up behind his back, Deimos pressing all his slight weight into the hold to keep Cain down.

Deimos flashes a feral look at me, all teeth. “Go!”

I hurry into the office, slam the door shut. Stand there trembling all over, shaking so hard I have to sit suddenly, sit right on to the air mattress. Deimos’ duffel bag is slumped beside one side, his side, I guess, because there’s a laptop and datapad as well, Deimos’ work that he brought along. My eyes drift over the small scattering of possessions and then to the other side of the mattress, Cain’s half, which is just creased, I guess, no sign of him.

I look at the door with trepidation, straining to hear whatever I can from the rest of the apartment. My heart keeps racing, my thoughts jumping around, I keep hearing Cain yelling and then seeing him go down under Deimos—

The knock, when it comes, makes me nearly swallow my own tongue. I hold my breath, keep silent, wait until I hear him call, “Ethan? Ethan…?”

I burst open the door to find Cain there, gaze heavy, rumpled from the brawl. He’s fine, clothes askew but skin unmarked, no bruises, just like he’s searching me over for the same thing. I throw my arm around him, press into him, we stand there holding each other in silent, shaking relief, until I whisper at him that everything’s okay, until he kisses me to shut me up, until things are okay.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Got a lot of fucking things to say on Saturday, start pacing around as I say them. Tell her about my grand fucking great idea, about Deimos, how he’s staying with us, how Abel’s been so pissy about it, trying to keep Abel safe so it makes me mad, makes me helpless, makes me ashamed because Abel knows I fucked Deimos once, looks at me like he thinks it’ll happen again.

Tell her how I wish Abel would think instead about how much I miss him, hate so fucking much it has to be like this, don’t want to hurt Abel, have to keep Abel safe. Abel should think about how I hate not sleeping up next to him like we always do, slept together ever since the Sleipnir when I put the mattresses down, tell her to shut the fuck up about the stupid prissy cuddling, just want to keep Abel under my thumb, have to keep the navigator in line, don’t know why she’s asking me to sit down, thought I heard the attack alert, need Abel, need to get to the Reliant, I just fucking need Abel right now okay.  

Sitting in her office watching the aquarium, think something’s happened because she’s calling me Cain, asking if I want to her to call Abel, _Cain, Abel’s fine, he just isn’t here right now_.

Tell her to stop, tell her it’s okay, get back to my feet and start pacing, limp my fucking ass back and forth behind the loveseat because I can’t keep still, can’t fucking think straight, get my leg burning and aching.

Start right back up telling her about Abel being mad about Deimos and how that makes me mad.

Tell her Deimos is just some friend from the war, guess my best friend, shut up, he’s a good friend, but he’s someone I fucked once. Just because I popped Abel’s cherry doesn’t mean I have to be a saint, he was just my navigator back then, doesn’t mean anything to fuck your navigator.

Tell her Abel’s being stupid, isn’t like I’d fuck with Deimos again, weird enough the first time, pretty sure Deimos wouldn’t even want to again, hear him talking all whisper-soft into his phone sometimes, always texting, hates talking but likes to text. Just friends with Deimos, trust Deimos, trust Deimos to keep Abel safe, know Deimos can kick my ass, fucking fast little guy, good friend, trust Deimos can keep Abel safe.

Tell her Abel’s got the wrong idea, Abel should think about how I feel about this, how hard it is to have someone around who isn’t Abel seeing me be wrong, hate being wrong, fucking hate it, all my fault, so mad, so frustrated.

Her asking me to sit back down.

Tell her to shut the fuck up.

Isn’t like I don’t know what Abel’s thinking, isn’t like I can’t see how this hurts Abel, better than Abel on the floor puking from pain, shivering and scared in a hospital room, can’t let him get hurt like that again. Tell her that, tell her Abel’s being a stupid motherfucker, I’m not going to fuck Deimos right next door to the room where Abel’s sleeping, only ever cheated on Abel after I left so it’s not really cheating anyway, don’t even remember most of those times, just pretty blond things that weren’t Abel, felt pretty shitty about it, haven’t told Abel because I’m scared, don’t want Abel mad at me anymore, scared Abel’s going to be the one to leave, never had anything like Abel before, never had a pet before either, killed my fish, hurt Abel, scared to lose Abel, tell her to shut up, tell her to shut the fuck up.

Blow my nose loud and messy into the tissues. Real fucking embarrassing, crying like the night I killed Reliant, just a stupid fish, just a stupid navigator getting jealous.

Sit there not saying anything for a while, running through the box of tissues like I’m the one watching a sappy movie in bed. Want Abel to come kiss me, I’ll make it soft for him, Abel’s always soft when we watch those stupid movies.

She asks why I slept with Deimos.

Stare at the fish. Don’t tell her that I only did it because I thought it’d be fun, because Deimos was so hot for it, because I’d had a stupid fight with Abel, figured I might as well take Deimos up on the offer. Don’t tell her I only did it because I’m an asshole, knew Deimos wanted more than just fucking, knew Abel had already gone stupid and soft for me. Knew I’d gone soft and stupid for Abel, just didn’t want to admit it, went and fucked Deimos instead. Felt pretty bad afterward, fucked Abel real slow next time, made him all flushed and pretty, let him fuck me for the first time because I felt so bad about, felt soft and stupid, guess he started being more than just my navigator, like him being my navigator.

Miss Abel now, wish I was home with Abel.

Don’t tell her what a stupid motherfucker I am. Pretty sure she knows already by now. Tell her to mind her own fucking business.

She asks why I wouldn’t sleep with Deimos again.

Tell her I just fucking told her why not, wouldn’t cheat on Abel, just fucked Deimos the once and it wasn’t like with Abel, fucked those pretty blond things that weren’t Abel, nothing like Abel, never had anything like Abel, wouldn’t fuck Deimos because it isn’t like I love Deimos, I love Abel, she’s a fucking idiot and I tell her that, tell her she’s the stupidest motherfucker sometimes.

She looks at her watch so I know we’ve gone into overtime. Guess I had a lot to say.

Apologize for calling her a stupid motherfucker.

She shrugs, tells me her mother is a nice lady but not that nice.

Makes me laugh, kick the tissue box across the table.

She says I should talk to Abel about Deimos, listen to what Abel has to say, take what Abel has to say seriously. Tells me Abel cares a lot for me like I don’t already know that, like he doesn’t get scared and start saying it all the fucking time. She says she’s glad I’m concerned about Abel’s physical safety but need to think about him being emotionally safe.

Don’t tell her what I want to say, which is to take back my earlier apology. Just agree I’ll talk to Abel, listen to Abel, make things work with Abel.

Last appointment of the day, Abel can’t come pick me up so she’s taking me home. Help her feed the fish and turn off the lamps. Talk a little about her plans for the weekend, taking her square girlfriend to a fancy dinner. Ask if she plans to get lucky, make a crud gesture with my hands about it.

She tells me I can walk home with that kind of attitude.

Tell her I’d fall over halfway there, sue her, piece of shit doctor.

She tells me not a jury in the world would convict her with me as the star witness.

Get back to the apartment, tell her I’ll see her Wednesday. Lean against the wall in the elevator, fucking leg hurts from all that pacing, wore myself. Think I’ll bug Abel to watch a movie in bed with me, tell Deimos to go fuck off for a bit, make it one of those times Abel starts fussing at me to pay attention until I get him hot and flustered, so we end up not watching the movie at all.

Thinking about Abel all soft and pretty, flushed, bet we can figure out a way to fuck so it won’t hurt his shoulder. Get into the apartment, Deimos in the guest room tapping on his computer doing work, Abel already in bed, makes it easy. Tell Deimos not to follow me, go in to see Abel.

Abel asleep, wake him up by biting his lips, kissing him hard. Abel looking pale, tells me he doesn’t feel well, says he has a headache. He asks me to lay with him for a bit, asks it quietly, strained, scared I’ll say no. Grumble about it, tell him I wanted to fuck, tell him he’s ruining the mood, put my arms around him and rub his temples so he sighs and gets soft and pretty anyway.

Hold Abel while he naps away the headache, sleeps it off, don’t miss the way Deimos peeks in every once and a while. Wish we were fucking so Deimos would go mind his own business. Pet at Abel’s hair, rub his temples more while he sleeps, end up getting drowsy and napping along with him.

That night, Abel feeling better, playing cards with Deimos in the living room. Been getting along a little better since Deimos threw me on the ground, handed my ass to me. Didn’t like that, waking up with Deimos twisting my arm, Abel nowhere in sight, Deimos pointing me toward the office once he figured out it was okay again. Found Abel in the office, scared and shaking, looking fragile with his arm in that sling, didn’t hurt him though, kept Abel safe.

Felt pretty fucking accomplished, thought for sure Abel would stop being upset, would start understanding that Deimos is just here to keep him safe, that we’re not doing anything on that air mattress except sleeping. Didn’t stop Abel from asking me to come sleep in the bed with him, didn’t stop us from having an argument about it.

Still need to tell Abel all that shit I had to say to Beth, guess I’m supposed to tell Abel some of it, maybe not fight about it but just talk this time. Usually wait until he’s almost asleep to tell him stuff, tell him stupid shit like how I fucked Deimos once, how my dad used to beat my mom and how it sucked, glad he left, wish I’d been bigger so I could kick his ass, twist his arm behind his back on the floor, keep my mom safe. Don’t like saying that shit to Abel when I can see his face, like when he just tells me it’s okay, lies to me about it, told me it was okay I’d fucked Deimos so why the hell do we have to keep fighting about it.

My turn to deal, everyone looking at me, Deimos braced like he’s going to flip the table into my face, Abel leaned back like he needs to run. Don’t like that. Grab the cards, shuffle them, throw Deimos’ cards into his face so he has to scramble to get them, not let me see how he’s got two sevens and a four.

Decide I’m tired of playing anyway, set the cards down and leave. Go brush my teeth, snarl at my stupid reflection, spit into the sink like the ceramic cares how hard I spit green minty foam at it. Stupid fucking Deimos. Never should have fucked him or sure as fuck never should have told Abel about it, everything wouldn’t be my fault all the time.

Find Deimos in the hall, blocking me, glaring at me, tensed like he’s ready to fight me. Tell him to go away, tell him my leg hurts, tell him I’m going to lie down. He lets me into the office, stands there in the doorway. Turns around and leaves without saying anything, hardly ever says anything.  

Lay on the air mattress. Stupid fucking air mattress, miss my bed, miss Abel pressed up against me, his stupid hair tickling my face, him smelling like clean laundry and that floral soap he uses with actual purple fucking petals in it, told him to stop using it but glad he ignored me, like the way he smells. Turn on my side to face the wall. Hate this. Should have just fucking told Abel I’m sorry or something.

Fall asleep in a bad mood, wake up in the wrong place. On the floor in the office, Deimos pinning me down, both of us breathing hard like it’s been a struggle for a while. Deimos straddled over my chest, my wrists trapped beneath his hands, close enough to kiss, and Abel at the fucking door trying to tell me everything’s okay, everything’s fine, _I’m right here, Cain, I’m safe here, you stay there where it’s safe._

Not safe here, not okay, tell Deimos to let go of me, let me go, _fucking let me go, Aleks, stop it, stop it!_

His pale eyes in the dark, the way he slides off of me, the way Abel gets quiet out in the hall. Go over to the door, jerk it open, Abel backing away real sudden, almost stumbling over his feet to back up toward the bedroom. Catch at him, be gentle about it, put him against my pounding heartbeat.

Go to bed with Abel, press close up against Abel, can’t tell which one of us is trembling. Tell Abel I’m sorry, don’t even know what I’m apologizing for, make Abel cry because I won’t stop saying that I’m sorry, keep thinking about all those pretty blond things that weren’t Abel after I left. Tell Abel, tell him that, tell him what happened when I left, how they were always pretty and blond but not him. Tell him I’m sorry in the darkness so I can’t see his face, so he has to tell me it’s okay.

Hear Abel whispering, not talking to me anymore, he thinks I’m asleep. Wrapped around Abel, cheek into his good shoulder, face wet, drowsy like maybe I’m going to be asleep again soon anyway so don’t bother moving. Abel whispering, _thanks, Aleks, but we’re okay now_.

Abel’s a pretty liar, always lying to me. Puts his fingers through my hair, starts whispering at me, tells me loves me and doesn’t sound scared about it this time, sounds all tough and fierce, like I’m going to wake up and argue about it with him. Tired of fighting, supposed to fight for Abel not fight with Abel, start sleeping in the bed with Abel again. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

The bodyshop calls to say the bike’s been fixed, that it’s ready for me to pick it up, but I’ve still got my arm in the sling. I think I’ll take Cain, think maybe it’s time I trust him to start driving the motorcycle again – so long as I’m on the back of it, he wouldn’t try to crash – except when I get home from work, it’s a bad day, a very bad day. Cain’s out alone on the balcony for the first time in months, sitting out there by himself drinking.

It draws me up short, makes me feel anxious and scared, worried for Cain. I stand in the living room where I can see him, where he can see me, willing him to look at me, to put the glass down and come inside. Deimos finds me, silent and small, with a dark bruise under his eye that tells me almost everything I need to know. When Cain looks through the glass and sees us, sees me, I think maybe he’ll come inside. He doesn’t. He just pours himself an amber measure of the whisky and sips it slow, staring out across the lake.

Nothing’s been quite right for a few days now, but we’ve been trying. I know Cain’s been trying, he slept in the bedroom with me even though it meant Deimos spent half the night awake, prowling around so that I caught him at it, woke up to see him in the doorway, more than little unnerving. Sunday night Cain had a nightmare, woke me up with it, grabbed my arms and shook me awake so hard and fast that it hurt my shoulder. I got scared, yelled for Deimos, made him come running in and drag Cain off me, put him to the floor. And poor Cain, confused, not even putting up a fight, pinned beneath Deimos, asking plaintively what happened, where I’d gone, if I was okay. We were all three so nervous and jittery afterward that Deimos dragged the air mattress into our bedroom and hasn’t moved it back to the office since.

I’ve been trying to understand Deimos a little better, because obviously Cain trusts him, trusts him enough to be vulnerable like this in front of him, and just as obviously Cain likes him, they’ve always been friends even though Cain’s just as abrasive to him as he is to everyone. But it’s hard, things aren’t quite right, I’m so hurt and confused by what Cain told me, about how he cheated on me when we were apart. I thought he was dead and couldn’t move on, had to be very drunk before I’d kiss a nice man I met at a bar who bought me drinks and said I was cute, said I had a nice smile. Thought Cain was gone forever and still couldn’t sleep with anyone else.

I think what hurts the most isn’t that Cain slept with other people, it’s that it means he left me, not just physically left our home but left me emotionally, moved on enough that he could sleep around. I hope I’m wrong, I’m not sure what other explanation there could be, I’m just so confused and can’t talk to Cain about it because we’re never alone, Deimos is always around. And I’m not really sure I could talk to Cain about how I feel even if Deimos weren’t here, if it was just us again.

I’m so hurt, so tired of feeling this way, so desperate to forgive Cain because I want things to be okay between us. I don’t want this kind of silly relationship turmoil on top of everything else. Things are hard enough without worrying Cain will cheat on me again, without sitting around agonizing about how it really wasn’t cheating, maybe it was, until I’m so knotted up I could just scream.

Whenever I think of Cain with someone else, I feel like I could cry, but I’ve never been with anyone else, never slept with anyone besides Cain. It’s not like that for Cain, he’s younger than me but before we even met he’d been with people, had sex, knew what to do in bed. It’s not like that’s something I’ve ever asked him about, not like I’ve ever asked about his first time or any of the times since. I don’t know who he’s been with – except Deimos.

At least Deimos I can look in the eye, I know who he is, maybe if I get to know him better I can understand why Cain slept with him. At least Deimos knows me, knows that Cain loves me, that Cain’s with me now. At least it was a long time ago with Deimos, before I told Cain that I loved him, maybe even before I actually loved Cain, before Cain loved me. I can’t believe finding out Cain slept around while he was gone, that he cheated on me _more_ , would be the thing that changed my mind about Deimos.

Well, that, and how Deimos touches my arm, looks at me with sympathy and concern, like maybe he knows what I’m thinking or maybe he just understands that I’m worried about Cain. Deimos sticks around even though it’s a strange thing we’ve asked of him, it’s a strange trust that Cain’s given him, it’s a dangerous risk he’s taking going after Cain all the time to keep me safe while my arm heals.

And now Deimos is the one with a bruised face, and Cain is on the balcony drinking, so it’s like all our small improvements, all the tiny ways in which I think Cain is getting better, it’s like none of them are real. I try not to feel discouraged by every bad day, but I feel such despair looking at Cain on the balcony, watching him drink, knowing it’s a very bad day.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to Deimos.

Deimos shrugs.

“Does it hurt?”

He gives me a wry sort of smile, something dangerous that reminds me how tough he is, how he takes down Cain so easily despite being so small. He shakes his head. “Had worse,” he says.

It’s a bit startling, because I could count on my hands the numbers of times I’ve heard Deimos talk. I press him a little more, encouraged by it. “What happened?”

He tips his head to the side, looks up at me with a steady expression.

I don’t want to know more than that, nervous and fluttery already at the idea of Cain hurting Deimos, because it only makes me wonder if I could have stopped it had I been there, if it was one of the times Cain would recognize me, listen to me tell him it’s safe. I pull my phone out to check the time. I glance at the balcony again and then down at Deimos. “Can you drive a motorcycle?”

He shrugs, which I take to mean he can or at least willing to try. Hopefully the former. I’ll have to ride with Deimos to get the bike instead of Cain, head over before the bodyshop closes, get downstairs to my taxi before it leaves.

It’s a worried sort of frown that I give Cain, when I knock lightly at the glass. I think maybe he’ll ignore me, but he looks over and glares, scowls, willing to let me come out and talk to him but showing me he’s angry about being disturbed.

I step out on the balcony and draw the glass shut behind me. “Hey? I’m going with Aleks to get the bike.”

Cain doesn’t say anything, but I think I see him nod a little at least. He looks away again, staring at nothing. I bite my lip around the urge to say something more, to ask if he’s okay. I go back inside to get Deimos, take him to get the bike back, maybe make one thing the way it should be, like if I can get the smaller things together than the big ones will fall into place as well.

Deimos turns out to be somewhere between terrifying and atrocious on the motorcycle, so I cling to him with my good arm. He’s so small it makes for a curious kind of balance, so I’m scared I’ll pull him right off the seat if I grip too tight. I can’t tell if he notices how relieved I am when we make it back safe, when I can my shaky knees off the bike.

It’s a short-lived relief, because when we get up into the apartment, Cain’s inside leaned up against sofa, face like a thundercloud. Deimos catches my hand, pulls me behind him.

Cain’s brow tightens further. He says, “What’re you doing with Abel?”

I step forward, brush past Deimos’ clutching objections, walk slowly up to Cain. I keep my eyes on his scowl, searching out his impatience, his anger, looking beneath the heated mask to find his fear and worry. I touch at his hand, his arm, press myself into his side until he relaxes, sets his arm around me in a way that’s definitely controlling, maybe a little alarming because his hand ends up rested on my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt, but it could if Cain forgets to be gentle, forgets I’m injured.

Deimos looks at us for a moment, quiet and intense, not moving from the entry. I keep still under Cain’s hand. Eventually he relaxes further, drops his arm off me and – goes back on the balcony, the glass door sliding shut with a terrible sort of softness.

It’s a little devastating, Cain closing himself off like this when he hasn’t for so long, when he hasn’t gone out to the balcony in months. I just mope around the apartment, half-heartedly trying to do some chores. It’s hard to fold clothes away with one hand, harder still to try hanging them up. I get frustrated at the laundry, knock the whole basket over, kick the clean clothes around until I get tripped up in them, fall heavily on my ass to carpet.

I shove at the plastic laundry basket, slap and kick it out range. I get so angry, so frustrated and sad, it’s either cry or scream –“FUCK!”

I hear only a soft rush of footsteps before Deimos appears in the doorway, anxious and alert like Cain somehow magicked himself from the balcony to the bedroom unnoticed. He finds me on the floor, surrounded by the laundry, the basket knocked over, breathless and silly from the outburst. I’m a bit embarrassed now, try to wave him off, but he just glances over his shoulder before slipping into the bedroom.

Deimos sets the laundry basket upright and begins to put the clean clothes back into it for me. “It’s okay,” I tell Deimos. I grab one of Cain’s shirts, one of my socks, some of Cain’s underwear. All our clothes mixed together. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Deimos ignores me, keeps helping me get the laundry put back together, and the helps me get it put away. He puts the clothes on the hangers for me, folds them up neatly, doesn’t say a word about it because he’s always so quiet. I wonder if that’s why he gets along so well with Cain, who always has one more snarky thing to say about something.

Cain’s inside again when I go to check on him. He’s lying on the sofa with the heading pad around his leg, and when he sees Deimos trailing after me, he looks aside, looks a bit guilty and angry about it. I go over to scratch my fingers through his hair, squeeze his shoulder with my hand, let him know that everything’s okay. He doesn’t say anything, because Cain’s the one who is quiet on bad days.

That night in bed, Cain presses up against me and sets his mouth into my shoulder. He doesn’t say much, just, “Ethan,” very soft and in a murmur, more the motion of his lips into my skin than an actual word. I put my hand against his back and go to sleep feeling warm, Cain’s warm against me, his breath hot. It’s nice.

And then it’s the middle of the night, and there’s nothing nice about it.

I’m confused at first, wondering why I’m on the floor, why it’s so loud, what’s happened. I jolt awake quick, realizing that I’m on the floor because Deimos put me there, it’s loud because he’s gone after Cain, and everything is happening at once. I’ve got half the blankets dragged down with me from when Deimos hauled me away from Cain. I scramble at the sheets, lurching myself upright.

Cain and Deimos are rolling over the floor on the other side of the bed. Cain snarling, cursing, I’ve got the bed between us, thank God. I stumble over the air mattress in my haste to leave, get into the office, get away from Cain.

There’s grunting, more cursing, in Russian and whispery. I hear a terribly loud and hollow noise behind me, one of them hitting hard up against the dresser, and by the soft, gasping little cry I know it’s Deimos. I get into the hall but turn to look, worried about Deimos, make the mistake of hesitating like it’ll do any good if I go back into the bedroom, and Cain appears in the door. I jerk back, but he catches me.

“You goddamn motherfucker, I’ll kill you,” he says. Breathing heavy, furious, hands shaking as he grabs me.

I try to slip away, try to fend Cain off without hurting him. “Cain – no, Cain – Cain, baby, please, it’s me, it’s Abel—“

He shakes me, hard and violent. My head snaps back and forth, streaks of light flash over everything. “Abel’s dead, you killed him!”

Oh, hell. Oh, _fucking_ hell, if Cain’s dreamed that I’ve died, if Cain thinks that we’ve—

Deimos, back on his feet and coming after us, slamming into Cain with a short, raspy snarl. Cain drags me down with him, we all go down, I bounce off the wall and crash mostly into Cain so at least he breaks my fall, and Cain ends up mostly on Deimos. The little fighter doesn’t seen to care, or maybe that was his plan, because he’s arms and legs over Cain, shoving me away at the same time.

Cain is so frantic, so angry, he breaks Deimos’ hold and hits him, punches him, I can hear the terrible dull smack of Cain’s fist, once, twice, again – It’s stupid of me, I know it’s stupid, but I shriek and throw my arm over Cain, around his neck, try to pull him off Deimos.

“Cain, it’s okay! Cain, it’s me, I’m Abel. I’m okay!”

He lifts back, throws me off with the motion and a jutting elbow, wordless fury. I get breathless, diaphragm hitching. Cain grabs my arm, not the one in the sling at least, clenches my elbow tight enough to bruise and hauls us both to our feet. Deimos looks a bit dazed, picking himself upright with agonizing slowness, one hand to his face, blood beneath his fingers, sleepy expression so it’s like he isn’t sure what’s just happened, what he’s supposed to be doing, and it makes me scared.

Cain pulls his leg back to kick Deimos, and I throw myself at him as best I can. “No, Cain! Don’t, please, wake up, baby, I’m right here!”

It distracts him at least, makes him snarl at me, shake me. “You shut up! You fucking shut up!” He’s gasping about it, gone mad with grief, chased by shadows, thinking I’m dead when I’m here trembling in his arms.

He drags me away from Deimos, away from the office, I’m not sure where he’s taking me. He’s limping, he’s limping so terribly, I’m so worried he’s hurt himself fighting Deimos. I try to speak slowly, urgent but calm, insistent. “Cain, it’s me. I’m Abel. I’m okay, everything—“

“Shut up!” He spins me into the wall. The back of my head cracks off one of the picture frames. It’s stars and bright noise, a shattering, crunching kind of sound, the picture crashing to the floor in a mess of broken glass. He holds me there with an arm braced across my neck, my shoulders, more my neck than my shoulders, his strong bicep flexing as he leans into me, almost choking me—

I put my hand over his arm, feel how he’s straining, tense and shaking. I’m whining about it, whimpering, gasping because I’m so scared, hurt, scared for Cain, scared for Deimos. “Cain, wake up, please, baby, please wake up, please come back to me.”

“Let him go, Cain!” That’s Deimos, hardly yelling with how soft he sounds, still louder than I’ve ever heard him. He’s recovered enough to come after us again, unrelenting.

Cain flinches, pushes me along the wall and down, throwing me aside. I lose my balance easily, disoriented enough that I fall, knees and elbows, my arm sliding out of the sling from pure reflex to catch myself, keep my face from smacking the floor. It hurts, stings and aches, so I’m panicked for a moment until I realize it’s okay, I’m okay.

I have to get away from Cain, I have to paw at the carpet and scramble out of the way. There’s broken glass from the shattered picture frame, I’m lucky I don’t cut myself on it. I do sort of a half-roll, half-crawl over to the sofa. I get to my knees, grab at the cushions, get upright, struggle to stand.

Deimos has tackled Cain down to the floor again, trying to get a pin on him, hold him down because Deimos doesn’t want to hurt him, he just wants to stop him. I’m breathless, trying to catch my breath, shaking all over and terrified. I’m paralyzed, I can’t let go of the sofa or move away from it even though I need to, I need to leave. I need to stop crying.

And then it’s over, I know it’s over, they’ve stopped fighting so it’s just Deimos on top of Cain’s back, pushing him down into the carpet, both of them breathing hard. The only sound now is the rush of their panting, the break of my sobs. Cain’s snarling rage and my desperate begging still hangs in the air like an echo, like tangible smoke, heavy and horrible.

I stumble away from the sofa. Deimos is still on edge, shoving Cain down even though Cain isn’t fighting him anymore, he’s just tense and shaking, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Deimos’ pale eyes glint over at me in warning. He’s got blood on his face, trickling into a smear across his cheek and chin from his nose.

I get a bit closer, gasp a little around my tears. “C-Cain?”

I see him try to move, try to turn his head toward me. Deimos has him pressed so hard into the carpet he can’t. He’s got a fist in Cain’s dark hair to keep his head down, a knee into his back, Cain’s arm twisted around so it looks painful.

“Okay?” asks Cain. Almost sobbing it, he’s shaking so hard, strained and over exerted, shifting slightly, trying not to fight at Deimos but he wants up, he wants to see me, he needs me. “Ethan?”

I’m so scared for him it makes me cry harder, put my hand over my mouth like it’ll help me stop. It’s hard to get the words out but I manage, say it thick and wet. “I’m okay. Aleks, let him up.”

Deimos goes slow about it, pretty features twisted with anger, he’s understandably upset about Cain hitting him, about his bloody nose. Cain’s slow about it as well, cringing out from under Deimos, scared like we’re going to put him back to the floor again, maybe hurt so he’s finding it hard to get his legs under himself. He certainly struggles with it, pushing at the carpet and shaking.

I get over to the wall, find the light switch. The room floods with light, illuminating the patch of chaos we’ve created. I hear Deimos gasp, a fearful, strangled kind of sound, and he’s all over Cain again, pulling at him, helping him sit up.

There’s blood on the carpet, blood down one side of Cain’s face. I rush at them, make an awkward, hasty kind of tumble to my knees, but Cain grabs for me at the same time Deimos grabs for me as well, so it’s a soft landing, less awkward with their help.

“Your shoulder—“ says Cain, because my arm’s out of the sling from my earlier fall. His eyes are wide, white all around, he’s terrified.

I’m just as scared, crying hard, panicking. “You’re bleeding!”

Deimos’ raspy whisper saying very quickly, very quietly, “Sorry.” He’s trembling as he pats at Cain’s hair, works his fingers into the dark strands to pull them aside, trying to find where all the blood is from.

“Ethan. Ethan, your shoulder—“ Cain touches at me, hesitant, shaking as he tries to help me with the sling. “Please, I’m so sorry—“

We’re a mess, all three of us, this is so terrible, Deimos wretchedly still trying to figure out where Cain’s bleeding from, Cain only concerned about how he’s hurt me again even though I’m okay, and I’m just scared, a bit battered but it’s okay. I’m not that hurt. I just need to calm down. One of us has to be calm.

I sob about it, still manage the words. “Sacha, it’s fine. Baby, I’m okay, my shoulder’s okay, you didn’t hurt me.” I get my arm back into the sling with Cain’s help.

“Ah,” breathes Deimos. He’s found where the broken glass ground into Cain’s forehead, high up against his hairline.

Cain looks between us warily, eyes still too wide, he’s so anxious and scared, trying not to show it. It’s awful how broken he looks, even without all the blood. He’s braced against the wall, bad leg out straight and jittery. “Ethan—“

“It’s okay,” I tell Cain. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.” It’s only a small lie, I ache all over from the excitement, from getting tossed around and shaken by Cain. My shoulder’s flaring with pain – but it’s true that I’m fine, compared to the two of them, both bloodied and looking shaken about it.

I say to Deimos, “There’s a first aid kit beneath the sink in the bedroom.”

He nods, small and intense, bolts to his feet. When he’s gone I lean forward, kiss Cain. He tastes bitter, my lips wet with tears, his with blood, but I press at him, curl my fingers over his hand.  I feel flinching resistance before he kisses me back, makes a small sort of sound in his throat, or maybe I’m the one who makes that sound.

I stroke my hand over his, kneel there next to him, close up against his side. “Sacha, I love you. Everything’s fine now. You just had a bad dream, baby, that’s all. You didn’t know it was us.”

I don’t think it’ll work, but it does, he nods. He’s either agreeing with me or too stunned to argue. He clutches his hand into mine, sets his forehead into my good shoulder. Getting blood on me, but it isn’t like I care. I can feel him trembling, shaking, it’s so awful, I don’t know what to do and I wish so desperately that I did. It’s the worst episode yet, the most violent I’ve seen him get, and it’s all the worse that I think he knows it, I think he can tell it was a bad one.

“Ethan, I’m so sorry.” Desolate and heartbroken, he sounds so miserable. He sets his other hand on my thigh, sighs so it’s like a sob, doesn’t say anything more.

Deimos returns with the first aid kit. I make him go get hot water, paper towels, make him clean his face while I sit there with Cain on the floor with the tweezers, carefully plucking the smashed shards of glass from his wound. He holds still, eyes heavy with sorrow and guilt, meekly submitted to my clumsy ministrations.

I stay focus on what’s immediately in front of me, tending to the cuts on Cain’s forehead. They’re all shallow, the deepest a puncture with a square-ish lump of broken glass at the bottom I have to fish for. It makes Cain hiss and flinch, makes me skittish, makes Deimos set a hand on Cain’s shoulder. Cain flashes his eyes between us, too upset to even scowl, looking humbled with remorse. He just forces himself still, statuesque but for the quivering in his thigh.

Deimos tries to clean the blood up out of the carpet while I clean Cain’s face, set some bandaging where I can. I kiss his cheek, pet my fingers through his hair. He helps me a little, lets me push against his arm to get upright. Deimos has to help Cain up, has to help Cain limp back to bed. It’s a bit awkward since Deimos is so much shorter, but Cain’s leg is clearly bothering him, he can’t put any weight on it.

I hear Cain ask quietly. “Is your nose broken, _myshonok_?”

“ _Nyet_ ,” says Deimos softly.

With Deimos’ help I get the bedroom set back in order, the bedding and pillows put into place, air mattress set on the floor for Deimos. Cain pulls me into him just as soon as he can, once the lights are off and I’ve gotten between the sheets. He’s shaking so terribly still, so tense, the back of his neck slick with sweat.

I shift to get comfortable, bone-weary exhaustion numbing out of the worst of it. I just want to sleep more, forget about what happened, deal with it in the morning or not at all. I don’t want to think about Cain upset because he thought we’d kill Abel, because I hate it most of all when he can’t recognize me, when he’s so lost from me, so separate from reality. I could cry again, but I don’t. I just stroke my fingers through Cain’s hair, whisper at him.

“I love you, Sacha. I love you so much. Don’t think that – Don’t be upset, baby, you just a bad dream, a bad night. You’ve been getting better, you’re doing a lot better. I’m so—“ I swallow, tell myself I won’t cry, speak slow and careful, soft so maybe Deimos won’t hear, everything awkward because we’re not alone, but I have to reach Cain. I have to keep him with me, help him find his way back to me no matter long it takes, no matter how much it hurts. “I love you,” I say.

Cain tightens into me, kissing my collarbone and neck. His breath is hot, shaky, too quick because he is upset, he’s devastated and I can tell, despairing so it hurts me. His teeth close gently into my skin, biting at me with tenderness.

I’m almost asleep, not asleep at all, feeling Cain shivering against me, listening to the warm pant of his breath. He stirs, kisses my neck, speaks so it’s just the motion of his lips. “Yeah, okay.” The same thing he always says when I get like this, get to where I can’t stop telling him how I feel, can’t stop shaping my heart into words for him. And then he says, “Ethan, I – the same, okay?”

He doesn’t say it, but I know what he means, and I start to cry again, can’t help it, just soft weeping so he kisses my lips, caresses my hip and thigh. He shudders at me in a way that’s helpless, weak, like my tears are hurting him so terribly. He whispers at me to please stop crying, please don’t cry. He curls his fingers in my hair, tells me it’s okay, sounds devastated about it, kisses me with brilliant sorrow, holds me close until I fall asleep. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Bad day, worst day, bad fucking day and it’s my fault. Everyone feeling bad, Abel going around stiff and wincing, hurt his arm again even though he keeps lying about it, says he’s fine. Deimos bruised up, nose sore, lies as well with his little shoulders shrugging about how it’s fine. Fucking hate bruising up Deimos because I know his stepdad beat him until he ran away to be some scraggly teen punk, homeless until he signed up for Fleet, guess he thought it’d be better than starving.

Stay in bed all day, leg hurts, pulled or strained something. Don’t feel well, tired, hard to stay focused. Abel making me use the heating pad, offering to rub my thigh, hurts too much when he tries. Snip at him, get sulky and rude about it, Deimos coming in without looking up from his phone, fucking texting all day long. I hate it, hate feeling like this, don’t like feeling this way, don’t like waking up with my face bloody, Deimos bloody, Abel sobbing, everything wrong and it’s my fucking fault.

Decide to stay awake all night so I won’t wake up in the wrong place. Can’t wake up if I’m already awake. Abel up against me smelling like soap, Deimos somewhere on the floor. Hear the rapid little tapping of his fingers against his phone, see the glow of his screen. Eventually he stops, everything quiet now, the soft hush of Abel’s breath against my arm. Wish I had Reliant’s bowl on the dresser to watch.

Guess it works. Sleep later when Abel’s at work, still don’t feel well, hate it, can’t do anything about it. Leg hurts, makes Abel worried, tells me I should see a doctor, tell him I already do. Real snippy, sulky about it, can’t say one nice fucking thing to Abel apparently, have to be a stupid motherfucker and make him look like he wants to cry. Fucking sick of seeing him cry, tell him to do whatever the fuck he wants with me, tell him I don’t give a shit anymore.

Deimos in the doorway, mad at him, too, mad at everyone, everything. Mad at myself most of all, know I should tell Abel I’m sorry for yelling at him. Don’t tell him that, just get sullen and miserable, hate this shit, tired of hating it, just wish I could stop, wish everything would stop.

Leg better, or about the same as always which means it isn’t okay, nothing ever gets to me okay anymore, Abel’s a fucking liar. Abel’s arm still in the sling, have to ride behind Deimos on the motorcycle. Abel looking anxious about it, don’t blame him, Deimos isn’t a navigator.

Sit in her office, don’t feel like talking. Stare at the aquarium.

She asks if something happened.

Don’t say anything. Just have to sit here for an hour until we can leave. Plan to tell Deimos I’ll drive back, better on the bike than him, not a navigator but still decent at it, spent enough time pressed up against Abel around all those fast turns.

She starts telling me about some movie she watched, going out on Friday with her square girlfriend. Makes me think about watching movies with Abel, how he likes watching movies, how we never go to the theater, never go out, never fucking do anything because I’m just going to ruin it if we try.

Interrupt her. Rude about it. Ask her for a smoke.

She points out that I’d told her I quit.

Tell to fuck off because she’s right, quit after I killed Reliant. Didn’t want to sit outside on the balcony by myself anymore, didn’t like the way Abel nose wrinkled up about it, thought maybe I could make things better if I did something right in a small way. Don’t feel that way anymore, just want a fucking cigarette, turn up the vents if you don’t like it, Abel.

She gets quiet, calls me Cain, asks if I there’s anything I want to tell her.

Want to tell her about beating up Deimos, how I felt pinned beneath Deimos hearing Abel cry, Abel looking scared and fragile, lying to me about how things are okay. Know he’s tough, hate seeing him get like that because I make him that way, hate hearing him tell me that’s okay. Nothing’s ever okay anymore, nothing’s ever going to be okay, I fucked the mission so now I don’t get to be okay and that’s just the way it is. Sticking around for Abel’s sake, want to stay with Abel but I shouldn’t, need to leave, did it the once and shouldn’t have come back.

Don’t tell her that. Just tell her I don’t want to talk, not going to talk today, leg hurts, just going to sit here. Wait for this to be over, go home to Abel, wait for that to be over.

Surprised she agrees, just me and her sitting there like the first few times. Look at the aquarium like I expect to see one floating around stuck in the bubbles, remembering Reliant floating around on top of his bowl, fucking bad day just want it to be over.

Deimos sitting where Abel usually sits, texting on his phone, frowning at it intensely, little fingers tapping with well-practiced ease. Puts his phone away when he sees me, puts on his stupid coat with the fur around the hood, fur in my face when I had to sit behind him on the bike.

Walk outside to the Abel’s motorcycle and tell Deimos I’m driving, try to take the keys from him. Get stubborn and mean about it, tell him we can fight right there in the parking lot or he can get on the damn motorcycle. Tell him I’m sick of his shit, tell him Abel knows I fucked him so that’s why Abel doesn’t like him, tell him I’m sorry he’s so fucking unpopular his only friend is just some asshole who pounded his ass for the fun of it.

Deimos stands there shivering, can’t tell if he’s cold or hurt or just fucking pissed at me.  Keys clutched in his hand still, staring at me, fucking keys jittering around because Deimos is shaking.

Tell him to get on the fucking bike.

Deimos shakes his head. Whispers that he’s supposed to drive.

Let him know he’s a bad driver, not a navigator, should have nailed his navigator instead of going after me, ask him why the hell he ever wanted me. Tell him I only fucked him because I thought it’d be fun, tell him it wasn’t very fun when he’s such a slut that half the colony got to spread him open for a handful of grubby coins.

Deimos throws the keys at me, yells _shut up!_ in that strange way of his that’s still whispering.

Fucking little whisper, always whispering because he was just a stupid punk kid sick of being around, sick of whoring himself around to survive, drank some shit that shouldn’t have been drank, didn’t even work so that’s just as shitty as the rest of it. Found out about it because he told me, got drunk once and told me all about it. Laughed as he said it, stupid breathless laugh, think maybe it was laugh or cry.

Happened some night I spent at his place after I was discharged, back when I was okay at faking it,  before Abel came to find me. Deimos just out of the service, wanted to throw him a retirement party, just me and him sitting on his ratty-ass sofa in a shitty colony hovel drinking beer. Deimos pressed close to me all night, drunk and laughing about how he tried to kill himself, draping himself into my lap, passing out with his face near my crotch.

Thought maybe Deimos still wanted to fuck me, wanted me in a way that’s more than fucking, realized he didn’t because he kept texting someone, wouldn’t let me see the screen. Took the phone out of his pocket once he passed out, saw a bunch of sappy gibberish to some guy he must have just met, realized he was just a slutty drunk and lonely. Guess I was lonely, too, guess it wasn’t so bad hanging out with Deimos, guess he’s about my only friend so it sucks he’s standing there about to cry because I’m still just some asshole pushing him around.

Never seen Deimos cry, decide I don’t want to, get panicky about it, get mad about it. Tell him not to fucking cry, tell him I’ll fucking break his teeth in if he cries.  

Keys on the pavement, pretty fucking awkward to try getting myself down at them. Deimos comes forward, snatches the keys up from beneath me. Grab his wrist, tight enough that his eyes flash to me in a panic. Let go of him, slide into the back part of the seat.

Tell him to get on the bike.

Worse driver when he’s upset, cutting around corners too fast and weaving through traffic. Serves us both right if he crashes, poor Abel just got his bike out of the shop, poor fucking Abel having me around to wreck his life, poor fucking Deimos dragged into this because I asked him a favor, knew he wouldn’t refuse. See him texting all the time, whispering into his phone when he thinks I can’t hear, turning his life upside down so I can bruise him up and call him a whore because I’m such a stupid motherfucker, just a great fucking friend, best of friends.

Feeling pretty miserable by the time we get back to the apartment, go straight on to the balcony so I can be alone. See Abel looking all upset about it, miserable, just one more thing to hate, fucking miserable day, worst stupid day I have to be around for, wish I’d go to sleep and wake up somewhere else, wish I’d go to sleep. Want this over but it won’t end.

That night lying in bed watching the shadows across the ceiling, little shadows caused by the glow of Deimos’ phone, the little incessant tapping sound. Abel’s soft breath against my shoulder, the tickle of his hair under my nose. Guess he’s having a nice dream, got something stiff pressed against my thigh. Haven’t fucked him since before his wreck, since he hurt his shoulder and then I put him in the hospital.

Hear Deimos tapping at his phone all night, going to wear his fingers to the bone texting all the time. Looking upset about in the morning, texting under the table at breakfast, frowning at the screen. Abel tries to talk to him, tries to ask Deimos little questions about his life, Abel being polite and stupid because he’s soft stupid navigator.

Deimos looks like Abel might slap him, just shrugs about it, doesn’t answer. Scared to talk to Abel now that he knows I told Abel about fucking him. Bet Abel’s probably still upset about that so don’t blame Deimos. Actually think it’s amusing, being an asshole and I know it, in a rotten mood and feeling rotten all the way down.   

Deimos avoiding me, tapping at his phone all the time and looking upset, avoiding Abel, stuck living with us, everything pretty shitty. Abel just looking sad and scared again, makes popcorn and gets the fleece blanket, asks if Deimos wants to watch a movie with us. Didn’t agree to watch the movie with Abel, just already sitting on the sofa, leg hurting so he’s put the heating pad around it for me.

Leg in Abel’s lap for him to rub, blanket over us, popcorn in the big bowl, the bowl that Abel used to try and save Reliant, don’t eat any of the popcorn. Deimos sitting next to me like I’m going to bite him, tapping at his fucking phone during Abel’s stupid movie. Something he’s seen before, something we own, something he likes so Deimos should watch it too.

Just feeling angry, mostly hating at myself, pretty fucking miserable that I’m such a stupid motherfucker, lashing out because I don’t know, guess that’s just how it is, fucked Deimos because I was mad at Abel for getting stupid and soft, mad at myself for getting stupid and soft. Stupid drunk Deimos laughing about something horrible, falling asleep in my lap. Deimos looking upset and tapping at his phone, Deimos’ stupid fucking whisper telling me to shut up in a cold shivery parking lot, Deimos with a bloody nose and frantic because he shoved my face into broken glass, to keep Abel safe for me like I asked.

Not even a sappy movie, tissue box nowhere around, think maybe they won’t notice but I guess it’s pretty fucking obvious. Tell Deimos that I’m sorry, tell Abel that I’m sorry, so fucking sorry but that won’t fix this, won’t make anything better. Keep at it until Deimos leaves the room, Abel’s soft even though it’s my lips that are wet. Tell Abel I really don’t want to do this anymore, that I don’t know what to do, that I don’t want to have to leave but maybe I should, maybe I shouldn’t be here anymore, can’t do this.

Abel, soft, kissing me, keeps kissing me until I’m quiet. Abel, fierce, telling me it’ll be okay, lying to me, call him a liar but I’m not angry about it, not angry anymore, just scared and feeling pretty shitty about it. Tell Abel I’m scared to sleep anymore, scared of what I’ll do to him, so tired of being scared, Abel telling me it’s okay, he’s not scared so I shouldn’t be either, Abel’s such a pretty liar.

Tired of making Abel upset, tired of Abel having to tell the same lies.

Tired all the fucking time, tell Abel I want to lay down, don’t want to finish the movie, already know how it ends. Go to bed with Abel, everything quiet when I lay there staring at the ceiling, no little tapping because Deimos is asleep. Abel is awake, can feel him scratching his fingers through my hair, shifting his hips into mine, his lips on my shoulder, breath in my collar bone, pressing at me with prissy navigator cuddling.  Abel has work in the morning but I feel him awake against me all night long, not giving it to me in words for once but telling me something all the same.

Get into the shower with Abel in the morning, put him up against the wall. Leg aches so he has to do most the work, doesn’t seem to mind. He gasps into the shower spray, little soft cries getting lost into the tile. Pretty and flushed, moving into me with slow urgency, a bit clumsy since he can’t use his right arm, something beautiful all the same. Thrust into him so he shivers and mews about it, pink-cheeked, eyes half-closed and then open, drinking me in, pale thighs clenching, mouth stretching, silent about it, shuddering, tight all around me. Makes my leg get jittery, makes my heart beat faster, makes a lot of mess so it’s good we’re already in the shower.

Hold my face up close against Abel’s, feel the fast pant of his breath against my lips, feel him everywhere and all over me, feel like maybe I can do this after all. Tell him something stupid and soft that makes him cry, kiss him because he’s soft and wet, don’t know why he’s crying since it’s something he should have already known. Being pretty about it, smiling and kissing me back, might think the water on his face is just from the shower except his lips are so soft and bittersweet.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

Cain looks nervous as he grips at the handlebars, shifts around to get his leg comfortable. I fold myself up against his back, wrap my arm over him tight. I’m not nervous to let Cain drive, considering my other option is Deimos or wasting money on a taxi, but I am worried.

Been worried about Cain for a while, how he’s getting distant from me again, spending too much time on the balcony even though he looks miserable out there, looks miserable all the time. He hasn’t had another bad episode, not since the really bad one three weeks ago, just smaller ones, little hitches in our lives.

The worst was when some stupid kids set off little explosive fireworks in the grass outside our apartment, making Cain come after me in a panic. Deimos slammed him down first, sat on Cain while I went out on balcony to scream at the children. I probably shouldn’t have said quite as many terrible things as I did, but it worked to scare them back inside. I hope they were terrified, scared and shaking. Afterward I laid down on the floor next to Cain, got Deimos off him and on the floor as well, the three of us just huddled together until Cain could calm down.

A few nightmares, nights where Cain tried to shake me awake, terrorized by something and needing me to wake up, wanting me to be safe.  I stopped Deimos from dragging me away from Cain, my shoulder’s not so tender anymore that I can’t handle Cain myself when he gets like that, soothe at him and let him hold me a bit too tight until he snaps out of it.

He wasn’t sleeping much the first week, he scared himself with it after the last big episode, so I tried to stay awake with him, try to keep him safe like he tries to keep me safe. I think he finally told Dr. Warren, who changed his medication around, so now Cain takes something right before bed and sleeps a bit better, or at least sleeps through the night more often than not. Makes him distant though, or maybe that’s just how it is. I’m not sure at all what he’s thinking.

I think he must have fought with Deimos – not fighting physically like they had been, something worse, something that made Deimos frown at his phone and text too much. I tried asking him about it. I’ve been trying to be nice to Deimos, get to know him, be a friend to him like he’s been a friend to me. I don’t know if he likes me, it’s always been weird with Deimos because of Cain, and I guess worse for me now that I know they’ve slept together. I try not to be mad about it, I don’t hold it against Deimos. It was a long time ago, I have bigger problems, I don’t have anyone else to talk to about Cain other than Deimos. I don’t have anyone else to talk to except Mother, but I don’t dare even mention Cain to her.

Cain’s on the motorcycle looking nervous but not wanting to show it, it’s been a while since he’s driven it. He turns back to me slightly, as if to give me a chance to object, but I press my arm to him tighter, don’t say anything. He starts up the engine so the bike purrs beneath us, puttering out from its parking spot as Cain remembers quickly how to do this. He’s better than Deimos, so cautious it makes me wonder if he’s scared about it or if that’s just how Cain drives and I’ve forgotten.

I make it to my appointment just fine, take Cain in with me so he can glare at everyone, sit sullen and sulky in the waiting room chairs. When I come back out with my arm not in the sling, he sits up straight, stands up quick, starts to touch at me but stops, scowls, puts his hands into his pockets. I warn him that it’s still a little fragile, just better, much better. He offers me the motorcycle keys, but I turn him down, give some silly excuse that isn’t real, let him drive back and put both arms around him for the ride.

We walk in on Deimos in the middle of something. He’s actually on his phone rather than just texting, and he hops up from the sofa at the sound of us so by the time we actually walk in, he’s already heading into the office. He isn’t saying anything, just listening intently with a serious sort of expression, so it makes me curious.

When Cain’s on the balcony later, looking miserable about it and doing anything other than sitting, I catch Deimos in the kitchen. He’s getting a glass of milk, and it’s a silly sort of moment where he’s got the glass tipped up when I’m coming at him with a smile, pretty obviously wanting to talk to him, just as obviously as he does not want to talk to me. He looks at me warily, disinterested but not willing to be rude.

I get him at the table, seated so I can see Cain, and try asking him polite little questions like always. He shrugs me aside, so I just decide to throw it out there, get this out of the way, smile in a way that I hope looks reassuring and say, “I know you slept with Sacha, when we were on the Sleipnir. He told me.”

He freezes, shoulders stiff, eyes wide, looking a bit trapped like he thinks I might up end the entire table at him.

I rush to add, “I’m not mad about it. Honestly. I was just hoping that we could… talk, some.”

Deimos relaxes slightly. He shrugs, but it’s agreeable sort of shrug. I realize the inherent difficulty of having any sort of conversation with Deimos, but he surprises me by saying very softly, “All right.” I’m a bit startled by it, not sure where to go for my follow up. Fortunately Deimos speaks again, says, “Only happened once.”

“I know,” I say. It’s what Cain told me, but I’m relieved to hear him confirm it.

“Didn’t mean anything,” he says. Shrugs about it, fiddles with the phone in his lap but doesn’t actually start texting. He abruptly sets the phone on the table, adjusts it for a bit and the drops his hands off it. “Just sex.”

“Oh.” I don’t know why I find it surprising, I’m not sure why my stomach flips around like it does. I think it’s the idea of Cain being so callous about it, cheating on me without remorse, just taking someone else’s body like he took mine that first day we met. It’s a flustering thought.

Deimos does laugh, or I think that’s what he does. His shoulders tremble with it, a soft shaky outrush of air, but he’s silent. He doesn’t make a noise doing it. “Wasn’t bad,” he says. “Wasn’t good, either. Don’t think he liked it.”

“Oh.” I wonder why the hell I thought this would be a good conversation to have.

Deimos looks at me for a moment, eerily intense like he gets. “Had a thing for Cain, so.” Deimos shrugs. “Different then. Wouldn’t now. Just friends.”

“No, of course I – I know that, I wasn’t trying to, you know, imply anything.”

“Didn’t think you were.” Deimos spins his phone around and sinks lower in his chair.

“Oh. Okay.” And we just sit there for a while, awkward about it, Cain out on the balcony being distant and miserable, Deimos messing with his phone without actually using it.

Deimos glances over his shoulder to the balcony before looking back at me. “Sacha likes you. I’m glad.”

It’s like he just punched me. I’m not sure what to say for a moment. He’s so direct when he speaks, I guess because he hardly speaks at all. I ask, “Do you have anyone that you like?”

He shrugs, smiles in a way that’s both coy and shy, and then just as quickly the expression drops so that he looks anxious, picks up his phone and plays at it for a moment, the screen coming on and then him turning it off just as quickly. He sets it back on the table. Checking his messages, I realize abruptly, because there aren’t any.

I scoot my chair closer, lean at him and speak softly. “Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?”

He grabs the phone off the table, stands with the same gesture. He isn’t exactly rude about it, just close to being rude, curt with the gesture and the look he gives me that very clearly tells me to mind my own business. Cain comes in off the balcony just then, looks at Deimos not-quite storming off to the office in a huff, and then he limps over to where I’m sitting.

“Hey,” says Cain. Which is how I know he’s feeling better, or at least feeling well enough to talk to me, grab at my good shoulder as he passes by me into the kitchen. It’s more like a caress than he actually needs me for balance. I turn around, watching him as he goes over to the fridge and opens it, stares at the contents. After a moment he closes the fridge and moves on to the pantry, opening it up as well to survey the contents.

I have no idea what he’s looking for, so I try to be friendly and ask, “Are you hungry? Would you like me to fix you something?”

“No.” Cain closes the pantry as well. He limps back over to me and runs hand through my hair, a bit rough about it, so I have to tip my head or risk having it hurt. “Let’s go riding.”

“Now?” I’m more surprised than anything, because we haven’t gone out in such a long time.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll drive.”

Having Cain take me to the doctor’s and back, in the daytime, going slow through residential streets, sure, okay, fine. Having Cain take the bike up into the hills at night, going fast around the turns, the very same turns where he wrecked almost two years ago – the crash we both know wasn’t an accident, that he admits wasn’t an accident – when Cain’s been so distant lately, so miserable looking, been worrying me for weeks.

“Oh, not tonight,” I say slowly. “I’m tired.”

Cain’s hand drops out of my hair. He stands there looking at me for a minute before leaving, dragging his bad leg along in a way that seems so defeated and makes me regret not taking him up on the offer. I sit at the table for a bit longer thinking rather unpleasant and unhelpful thoughts about how Cain and Deimos are both so moody and sulky that they deserve to be friends, deserve each other. I get upset thinking like that, get mad at myself for feeling like this is my fault when I just tried to say and do the right things for them both.

I go to bed and find Cain already there, turned on his side with his back to me like a fortress, some cold wall that says he’s upset, or maybe he isn’t, I don’t know. I apparently don’t know anything about anyone. I don’t know where Deimos is, the air mattress is empty, but the mystery is solved pretty quickly by looking into the hall and seeing a light along the crack of the office door.

Since I don’t know what else to do, I get into bed with Cain. I look at the ceiling, I look at his back. It makes me sigh some, turn on my side facing away from Cain. It isn’t long before I hear him shift, feel him turn into me, feel his arms go around me and pull my back against his chest. His mouth finds my shoulder, my neck, his lips warm and teeth hot as they graze my skin. He doesn’t say anything, but I know what he means. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Always shit at goodbyes. He knows it, don’t think he’s holding it against me, just about the most awkward thing ever all the same. Standing there with his backpack, holding it by the top loop, wonder if he’ll put it on with one strap or two, wonder what the hell I’m going to do without Abel, both of us thinking it and neither one saying it.

Got him alone in the lobby, guess it’s supposed to be a more meaningful goodbye this way but I’m always shit at goodbyes. Abel smiles, sad and scared and doing everything not to look it. He kisses my cheek, says goodbye again, pats at my arm and turns to leave.

Fuck that shit – snatch Abel’s hand and pull him to me, kiss him for real. Lots of tongue, make him melt against me, get my hand down the back of his pants and squeeze a handful of his ass. Don’t want him to forget me, want him thinking about what there is to miss, guess groping him and fucking his mouth is my way of saying goodbye so he better appreciate it.

Abel sighing all pretty and flushed, smiling at me without looking sad and scared this time. Tells me again he’ll be back Friday night, to call me whenever, he’ll leave his phone on. Imagine that’ll go over great, calling him Thursday when he’s sitting there eating turkey and making nice with his parents.

Tell him I will, wonder if it’s a lie. Kiss him again because I don’t want him to leave. Don’t tell him that, just kiss him until he protests, until he has to nudge me away.

Abel looking worried, asking if I want him to stay, telling me he doesn’t have to go. Makes me get sulky about it, tell him I don’t fucking care what he does. Pull him into my chest, put my lips in his hair. Soft and smelling like flowers, stupid shampoo he buys. Stupid Abel leaving, always shit at saying goodbyes.

Tell Abel to go before he misses his train, swat him across the ass so he listens. Watch Abel leave, see him turn back at the door to give me a wave.

Take the elevator upstairs to where Deimos is waiting, trying not to look like he’s waiting, waiting all the same and trying not to look it. Going to be real fucking awkward just the two of us, can’t even tell if Deimos is okay with it or just being Deimos about it. See him texting all the time, hear him whispering at his phone all anxious, know he’s been fighting with whoever’s on the other end because what kind of boyfriend wouldn’t care he’s spent a month living us. Wonder if Deimos didn’t come clean and confess I fucked him, wonder if the boy on the other end of the phone is giving him a hard time for it.

Just me and Deimos, pretty awkward like I thought that first night without Abel around. Get a few texts from Abel, telling me he arrived safe, asking me how things are, telling me goodnight, asking if I’m asleep, saying he’s going to bed, telling me how his mother hasn’t taken down any of his old posters, asking what I think about lizards. Text him back to go the fuck to sleep already.

Sleep in the office in the air mattress, let Deimos take the bed. Don’t want to be in the bed without Abel, figure Deimos’ back deserves a rest, fucking air mattress not comfortable at all. Lay there feeling drowsy and stupid, not able to sleep but not able to stay awake, missing Abel and it’s just the first night. Halfway there, think of it that way, just one more night and Abel will be back. Good for Abel to go see his parents, eat a stupid turkey, be normal like he can’t be here stuck with me, four stupid walls like living on some colony.

Roll on to my stomach like that’ll make this anymore comfortable. Text Abel to see if he’s still awake. Keep staring at my phone until it’s obvious that he isn’t.

Text Deimos instead, same question. _u awake?_

Get a response right away, can just imagine his little fingers tapping. _Yes._

_hows the bed_

_More comfortable than the air mattress I imagine. Did you want to switch back?_

_didnt say that_

_You didn’t want to come in here with me, did you?_

_dont be fucking stupid_

_Well I could say the same back to you, but considering who you’re fucking that would be an insult directed to the wrong person._

_fuck u_

_Again? No thanks._

_wtf asshole that was a joke_

_I know. I mean obviously I know you were just joking._

_whats got ur panties twisted?_

No response for a long time, so I think he’s gone to sleep. When the wall of text appears I’m both annoyed he sent so much and amazed he sent it so quickly, which is dumb considering I’ve seen how fast he can tap.

_Everything? I don’t know, Sacha, use your imagination. Besides the multitude other things I could possibly be upset with you over, there’s the fact you told Ethan I slept with you. I had to talk with Ethan about fucking you. Do you know how embarrassing that was? I thought we agreed afterward not to talk about it. I thought you said never to tell Ethan._

_well like at the time yeah but u know its diferent now_

_Of course it’s different now, but I still wish you would had showed some discretion about it. Maybe picked a better time than when I’m having to live with you._

_i told ethan b4 i called u_

_Well let me just roll out_ _the congratulations on you being the best, most honest boyfriend ever. Did you tell Ethan about all your other conquests or just me? I’m sure he’d love to hear all about your first navigator, really take some of the romance out of that scar._

_wtf is wrong with u_

A long pause, so I brace for another onslaught of words. It’s the opposite, however, he just sends, _Nothing_.

Like some petulant child, so I send back, _dont make me come in there_

_I’d like to see you try._

_whats that mean_

_Nothing. Go to sleep, Sacha._

Tempted to throw my fucking phone at the bedroom door, tempted to go in there and slap the stupid out of Deimos, tempted to call Abel to wake him the fuck up and tell him to come home, tell him I’m sick of this shit already, sorry he can’t eat turkey with his family because of me, we both have to stay prisoners in this stupid apartment because I’m so fucked in the head. Don’t, though. Take my white-knuckled grip off the phone to type.

_said i was sorry about the other day. said shit I shuldnt so sorry. again_

_Oh. Ugh. Okay, thanks. Didn’t expect you to sound so sincere about it. You’re rather infuriating to take all the vindication out of being mad at you._

_uuh ok u need me 2 say im sorry we fucked?_

_No, good lord, I’m not upset you used me to get back at your navigator. If I cared that much I wouldn’t have had anything to do with you afterward. It was so long ago. Why? Are you sorry to have slept with me?_

_wtf kind of ? is that_

_A perfectly legitimate one. I’m sorry that I ever slept with you, to be honest, it was a stupid decision but we both know I’ve made a lot of stupid decisions. Don’t worry about it. You’re hardly my biggest mistake._

_uh flattered? look i dunno y u r so mad. whats wrong?_

This time the silence from his end stretches so long that I fall asleep, fall asleep holding my phone and wake up to the sound of Deimos in the apartment, the television going a bit too loud so I think he’s done it on purpose. More awkwardness, stupid awkwardness because now we’ve got a conversation that wasn’t really anything between us making this so fucking stupid. Want to bring it up but we both know I won’t, he won’t, we just sit and eat the casserole Abel made before he left.

Offer Deimos a drink afterward, make the game on television into a game between us. Get a bottle out, get some glasses, set it all on the table and lay down the rules. Each pick a team, doesn’t really matter, purpose of the game is to get drunk so we do, get trashed with the sun low in the sky.

End up on the balcony, telling Deimos about Reliant and laughing about it, just some stupid fish, him grinning because I’m laughing, I’m laughing because I’m drunk, get drunk a lot faster with the medication I take. It isn’t funny and we both know it. Watch the sun lower and fade against the lake, pretty view I guess, tell Deimos he’s pretty, too, tell him he ought to text that piece of his, haven’t seen him with his phone all day.

Deimos’ team won, he’s not so drunk yet and having to catch up, looking at me carefully as he pours a bit more in his glass. “Broke up,” he says. Slurring and raspy.

“Bullshit. Really?”

He nods, shrugs like it doesn’t matter, and knocks the amber liquid into his mouth. Makes him scrunch up his face some, swallowing it neat and hard like that.

Think he’s being funny, so I laugh. “When’d that happen?”

Makes him smile because he’s silly when drunk. “Few days ago.”

Realize he’s being serious. “Why?”

“Decided to be honest.” Deimos rests his arms over the rail and looks out at the lake, the slow bleed of faint stars into the hazy twilight. “Stupid decision.”

Lean against the rail because my leg’s hurting, always hurting anymore, starts to hurt worse at night after dragging it around all day. Watch the last light fade out of the sky, the brilliance of night ruined by the stupid brightness from the city. Help Deimos drain the last of the bottle, splitting it between us, makes it so Deimos has to help me off the balcony later, arm around my waist.

Go along with stumble-drunk staggering made worse by the limp, Deimos swearing at me in whispers. He drags me into the bedroom, slings my weight on to the bed. Start to tell him he’s being stupid, thought we agreed to switch since Abel wasn’t here, makes me remember Abel’s not here. Don’t like that, miss Abel. Deimos tell me goodnight, turns off the lights on his way out. Think I should get up and take off my pants at least.

Wake up on the floor, drooling into the carpet, panicked for a moment that I’ve done something wrong but I haven’t, just gotten drunk and rolled out of bed. Have to drag myself upright, not very fucking dignified but no one’s around to see. End up knocking a bunch of shit off the nightstand, the framed picture Abel likes, the alarm clock, and my cell phone. Get afraid the picture frame broke, have to clumsily set it back on the table, nearly break it with the attempt.

Head pounding, need fucking water, don’t know what time of night it is and mad at the alarm clock for having the answer in searing green light. Get everything set back in place, stagger sideways in a zigzag to the bathroom. Drink straight from the sink. Abel not around to tell me to get a glass.

Wander into the hallway, bounce off the wall for a bit until I get my bearings. Office door open, see Deimos sprawled out on the air mattress and sleeping, face turned to the side and mouth just parted. Keep going all the way into the kitchen. Eat a slice of bread, leave the bread tie off because Abel’s not around to care. Drink more water from the faucet. Remember Abel will be home later, twist the bread tie back around the plastic closure.

Go back to bed and hope for the best, hope I won’t get a fucking hangover. Kick my phone on the way over, forgot it was on the floor. Leg jittery and stupid, glad no one’s around to see the difficult way I drop to the carpet, fish around under the bed. Find the cell phone. Wrong phone, not my phone.

Deimos’ phone. Screen lit up, one new message.

_I’m sorry, too. Come home when you can. I’ll be waiting._

Don’t recognize the name. Don’t feel guilty about it, still kind of drunk, slide the screen unlock so I can look at the contact info. Don’t recognize the face in the picture either but Deimos is squished into the frame, lips against the man’s cheek, both of them smiling, one of those crooked pictures being taken at arm’s length, it’s pretty fucking obvious who the message is from.

Feel pretty fucking guilty now.

Drag my ass into the hall again, into the office. Figure out how to do it without falling on Deimos, without tripping into him. Put the phone in his hand with the message opened across the display, pat his stupid drunk little head, go back into the bedroom. Crawl into the middle of the bed and punch at the pillows until I find one that smells like purple soap. Fall asleep with my nose pressed into it. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I am so anxious be in the apartment with Cain that I nearly take the stairs, nearly run up all the stupid stairs because I think it might be faster. I have to stop myself and take the elevator, bouncing on my feet with impatience until it makes me nervous the cable won’t snap, even though I know that’s ridiculous. All I can think about is wanting to see Cain, wound up with nerves because he wouldn’t answer his phone earlier, neither he nor Deimos responded to my texts from the train station. I’m so worried they’ve had another fight, that something bad happened while I was gone.

I didn’t want to leave, but Mother called asking if I had work Wednesday or if I’d be down Tuesday, and we got quite a ways into the conversation before I realized she was talking about Thanksgiving, about me coming home for Thanksgiving. I wasn’t sure what to tell her other than flustered apology. She was so quiet that I thought maybe the phone disconnected, but then she told me to bring Sacha. Which was about the worst suggestion, because I doubt my father would tolerate Cain in his house for even a second. It was a bit of desperation for her to offer. Mother and I talk on the phone regularly enough, but I hadn’t seen her since the time she ambushed me and found out I was living with Cain again.

I felt bad enough about it that Cain noticed, snapped at me for being mopey, biting out his concern in a way I’ve learned to understand is sweet. Talking it over with Cain just made me realize how little I trust him, how little he trusts himself, how we’re both just fumbling through all this difficulty as best we can but maybe that’s not enough. So I left, trying not to think of Cain and Deimos alone together, trying not to worry about being away from Cain. I tried to sleep in my old bed and realized just how much I missed Cain.

I get into the apartment and he’s there. On the couch, lying down with the heating pad, already trying to get up, looking groggy and maybe a bit disoriented. I’m getting in late, maybe he just wasn’t answering because he was asleep. I’m so relieved just to see him it’s unreal, almost terrifying. I wait until I’m sure he’s spotted me, recognized me, until he’s pushing at the arm of the sofa in order to get to his feet. I drop my backpack to the floor and come toward Cain.

“Hey, princess.” He slurs it at me, eyelids heavy so it’s almost boyish and sweet when he scrubs drowsily at his face. It takes him a while to stand, so I can tell his leg’s bothering him. It seems to bother him more at night.

“Hi,” I tell him. And then kiss him, fluttering and whispery with the way I brush my lips over his cheeks and mouth. I put my fingers into his hair, across his neck. I grip his shoulders and kiss him deeply, mouth parting, heart racing, I have missed him so much.

Cain kisses me back in a way that’s lazy, in a way that seems almost strange. He parts from me to brush a hand over his face again. His fingertips dig into the corner of his eye, and I realize just how exhausted he is, how worn out he looks. It’s late, he’s tired, I smile and take hold of his shoulder, caress my hand over his arm. I’m just happy to be home, to be back with Cain.

I gather up the heating pad for him, unplug it and wind the cord together. He slings the blanket across the back of the couch and then gets my backpack for me. I almost want to take it back from him because of the awful way that he’s limping, but I don’t. He’d be insulted if I tried, if I stopped him from doing me the small kindness of carrying my bag.

There’s a light under the office door, Deimos’ doing I’m sure, and I ought to stop and say goodnight to Deimos, but I don’t. I go with Cain to the bedroom. I get ready for bed quickly, try to tell to him around my toothbrush it’ll only take a minute. Cain sits heavily on the bed and makes a poor job of looking alert. He rubs at his face again and the motion draws up into his hair as well, one hand knotting through the dark strands for a moment before falling limp and heavy into his lap.

Dressed for bed and all brushed up, I sit next to Cain and kiss his shoulder, put my arm around his waist. “Tired?” I ask even though it’s obvious. He must have already taken the evening dose of his medication.

Cain nods. I kiss him again and hop up to get the lights. I’m not especially sleepy, but the idea of curling beside Cain in bed is a nice enough lure. He’s certainly sleepy enough for the both of us. I see the shadow of him shift across to his side of the bed. He fights at the sheets and pillows for a moment before settling into place. I’m touched that he thought to stay up for me to come home, even if he didn’t quite manage.

I press close to Cain, and he turns into me, rubs a slow, lazy hand over my hip and waist. He puts his mouth against my neck for a moment, the motion something caught between a kiss and speaking. “S’the trip?” he asks, the words thick and mushed together.

“Fine,” I tell him. “Uneventful, really. How was it here? Did you and Aleks do anything fun?”

Cain mumbles and slurs in such a way that I haven’t the faintest hope of understanding him. He’s heavy and lax against me, probably already asleep, so it makes me press a smile into his hair. I’m a little disappointed since I missed Cain, wanted to see him so desperately, wanted him because we haven’t in a while, not in weeks. I’m hard now just thinking of the last time, him coming into the shower after me and finally saying it, finally saying the words I already knew but needed to hear.

I shift to get comfortable. I’ve gotten myself hot and bothered thinking about Cain in the shower, husky voiced and so serious, nothing flippant or sulky about him. God, I missed him so much, thought about him as I jerked myself in bed at my parent’s house, like being some silly teenager again only with less guilt, more heartache. I’d just intangibly wanted someone back then, just imagined hot hands and eager lips but knew nothing of what it actually felt like.

Cain’s so tired at night anymore, worn out enough even without the medication making him woozy and unsure. It’s like each day makes him tired, like just sitting makes him exhausted, like life is just something he’s dragging himself through with painful stubbornness. It makes me so anxious, so indescribably worried, because I love Cain and hate seeing him like this, hate that we can’t be together in a way that’s more normal. It’s a terribly guilty thought, something that makes me ashamed to even consider, to admit what we have isn’t normal.

It’s my parents’ careful interrogation that has me feeling this melancholy, that’s made my expectations of Cain get stacked too high. I lied through my teeth about it, telling Mother that Cain was spending the holiday with a friend in from out of town. Not exactly a lie, considering Deimos, but still not the simple truth that Cain and I both knew what an absolute disaster it would have been for him to come with me. And I hate that, hate the way it makes Cain look ashamed of himself, makes him look guilty and torn up about it.

I should have brought him along anyway, to hell with the risk. I can’t expect Cain to trust himself when it’s obvious that I don’t trust him, when my parents ask guarded questions and my mother looks me over for bruises. I have to remind myself that Cain is getting better, slowly, I can’t expect everything to be fixed overnight, I can’t expect for Cain ever to be like before – not that I want that, I don’t. I fell in love with Cain when he was my fighter, but I love him even more now with everything else. He’s different now in ways that are good. It isn’t all bad. He’s good to me, Cain’s so good, he tries so hard and I know that. I just have to remind myself of it sometimes.

Carefully I shift into Cain, scratch my fingers through his hair. I love him. I missed him. I’m here with him again and I can’t help but wish he was here with me, awake so that we could talk, awake so that I wouldn’t be this flustered and frustrated.

I flop on to my back and sigh. I won’t be able to sleep like this. I turn my head to look at Cain, the way he’s softly frowning in his sleep. I roll toward him again and cup his cheek, kiss his slack lips. “Sacha?”

He stirs some, reaching for me. I go willingly, put myself up against him. I kiss him again, rub myself to him until he starts to respond with bleary half-awareness. His lips work slowly, his hand tightens into my lower back. He tangles into me with ardent insistence. His mouth finds my throat with hot breath and wet lips. I gasp a little, so hot and eager that it doesn’t take much to get me excited.

Cain nips at my pulse and then rolls his hips into me. He whispers in a low, woozy slur, “Mmn—Abel?”

I hesitate and then try to pull away but he’s holding me to him, heavy and strong. “Sacha.” I speak quietly, slow about it. “Sacha – are you awake?”

He rumbles nonsense and smeared vowels into my neck. The only thing clear is that he’s called me Abel again. I lean further from him and put my hand through his hair, petting him away from me without being cruel about it.

“Sacha,” I say. Louder, insistent.

I can tell when he snaps awake. It’s a jolting, twitching reaction where he jerks away from me with a strangled noise from his throat. He melts the difficulty into words, still groggy and thick but articulate this time. “Ethan? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

He’s scrambling to get upright, tense about it, his dark eyes gleaming and anxious as they flick over me and then start to search the shadows of the bedroom. I feel horrendously guilty for having woken him. I say quickly. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Cain looks at me, really looks at me, a bit hazy but more aware than earlier. His brow comes together, deeply furrowed, as he relaxes into the bed again. “When’d you get in?” he asks. He’s wary about it, confused in a way I’m sure he doesn’t like.

I am so guilty that it takes all my willpower to smile back at him, to keep my face clear of what I’m feeling. “Just a bit ago,” I tell him. “You were already asleep.”

His scowl deepens. “Meant to stay awake,” he says. Like an apology, so I feel even worse.

“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s late.”

Agreement fills the snorted kind of noise he makes. Cain trails his hand up my arm and then pulls me into him, kisses me like he hasn’t all night, kisses me in a way that’s real and electrifying. I just feel guilty about it still, feel awful that I woke him, but his thigh nudges between my legs. I clutch to him, chest hitching when he grinds into me.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He whispers the words against my lips. There’s a touch of slur to his voice still, a lingering shakiness in the way his hands rub over me. “Missed you.”

I want him, of course I want him, I just feel so terrible for getting selfish and waking him up, causing him even a few seconds’ worth of panic like that. Cain presses to me, affectionate and wanting, hands eager and mouth hot. He kisses me again, all tongue and even teeth, nibbling gently at my lower lip. I let go of restraint and respond to him, put my arms around his neck and pull him into me. He’s awake now, seems fine about it, I shouldn’t feel guilty and make things awkward.

Cain cups the back of my head and tips my mouth to his, kisses me until I’m dizzy and breathless. His other hand is between my legs, stroking and rubbing, making me so hot and bothered, I gasp and strain against him. I reach for him as well, but he abruptly shifts, lays me on my back against the bed. He slides against me to disappear under the sheets, to put his mouth over my cock.

Oh, hell, it’s been so long, I’m so out of my mind with wanting him, there’s no way I can feel guilty when there’s so many other things to feel. He takes my hand in his, curls our fingers together, knuckles pressing to the mattress as he kneads into me, mouth and hand alike. I toss my head, gasp, try to keep quiet but that’s almost impossible. “Nng! Sa-Sacha!”

His tongue slicks over me, hard and fast until he turns the motion into smoothness. His teeth just barely graze along my shaft, and I buck my hips forward with helpless neediness.  He gets a rhythm into it, unrelenting, pulling and coaxing so that I start to thrash, shudder moans at him.

“Sacha—“ I clench my hand into his. “Sacha, I’m g-going to—“

I hear him growl and feel it, too, feel the vibration of the snarl right against my skin, feel it in my heart. I breathe faster, hot all over, right at the cusp. He slicks his hand through the dribble of saliva around the base of my cock and then rubs a finger over my entrance. I curl my legs up, spread my knees, wanting and eager in a way that’s shameless. He pushes into me, up to the second knuckle with one thrust, bends and rubs until he finds my prostate. I gasp sharply and start moaning, plummet off the edge of no return.

He’s pulled his mouth off me, kept his hand on me, pumping and slicking as I shudder into rapturous orgasm. I cry out, almost yell, begin to heave and spurt, senseless for a moment. It’s just waves of ecstasy and the feel of him against me and in me, his hands pulling pleasure from me with exquisite assertion.

I’m almost sobbing afterward, when I start to come down from my peak. He’s pulled his hand away and crept up close, kissing my shoulder and neck. I arch to him, rub my leg against his side. I’d closed my eyes at some point, so I open them now to find him looking at me, dark gaze weighted with intensity. He leans into me, kisses my lips briefly since I’m still trying to catch my breath. I see him wince slightly as he shifts, rolls off me. The angle must have been bad on his leg, kneeling over me like that. I hadn’t noticed, hadn’t thought about it.

Cain scrunches his hands into his shirt, wipes them clean with the fabric. He’s getting himself off the bed but slowly, deliberate movements where he actually pushes at his thigh to help shift his leg to the edge.

I sit up, fumble toward him. “Mm, hey? Sacha?” I drape myself against his back before he can stand. I kiss the side of his neck, rub my hands over his arms. I’m giddy with afterglow, almost laughing into his throat. I bite at him some, like he’s always biting at me. I graze my teeth over the warmth of his skin and start to slide my hands lower. I circle his waist and then slip lower, eager, ready to return the favor and make it good for him, too. I put my hand over him—

He shrugs at me, tries to shrug me off without being rough about it. “I’m tired,” he says. Short, terse, pushing up from the bed. He slips off his soiled shirt and wads it at the hamper.

I stare after him for a moment. I know I shouldn’t say anything, I know I shouldn’t pry. I get up from the bed to get cleaned up as well. I watch Cain from the corner of my eye as he washes his hands at the sink before returning to bed. He probably is just tired, probably exhausted, just wanting to sleep when I was rude enough to get pushy and wake him up for sex. My cheeks are burning by the time I crawl back into bed with Cain.

He’s curled on his side facing away from me. I worry he’s upset, that maybe he thinks I’m upset. My stomach drops for a moment as I wonder if it’s more than just he’s tired, if it’s the same bleary vagueness that helps him sleep through the night that makes him not want my hands on him. I swallow nerves and kiss the back of his neck. I cuddle into his back and say, “I missed you, too.”

Cain huffs a sneering dismissal, chiding me with the noise for being a silly emotional navigator. He reaches back and brushes his fingers over my elbow. He draws the touch down my arm and then knots our fingers together. Cain rolls so he’s nearly facedown into the pillows and drags me along with our joined hands. I drape over his back and kiss the corner of his jaw just below the ear. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep again, I can tell by the way the rise and fall of his chest evens out. I stay awake a bit longer, pressed to him and thinking, just listening to him breathe, just glad to be home.  


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Wake up in the morning with Abel pressed up against my back, confused for a second because I don’t remember when he came home, takes me a minute to sort my thoughts into something resembling order. Abel still sleeping, feeling and looking cute about it, try getting shifted out from underneath him without waking him up. Don’t manage it, Abel’s face scrunching together, eyelids fluttering, looking at me with a sleepy smile and tousled hair.

I sprawl over the bed, not wanting to get up because my leg’s hurting pretty awful. I just woke up so I know it’ll be a shit kind of day if it’s already hurting like this. Saturday but don’t have to go anywhere, Beth off making nice with her girlfriend’s parents. Bet they’re just as square as she is, Beth some skinny piece by comparison, probably won’t tell her that when I see her next. Remind Abel about it, tell him we don’t have to go anywhere so I don’t know why he’s getting out of bed.

Abel smiles, tells me he’ll make breakfast for me and Deimos, says it like it’ll be something fun for us to do. Asks if I want waffles or pancakes.

Tell Abel that Deimos left yesterday, went home to patch things up with his boyfriend. Don’t actually say that last part, just tell him Deimos went home. Figure he’ll be happy about it, back to being just the two of us again, haven’t forgotten how miserable and desolate it made Abel at first having Deimos around. Better this way, just us again.

Abel stops smiling. Awkward all of a sudden, the lazy way I’m in the bed, the tense way he’s half out of the bed. He slowly sinks on the edge again, sits there, stares at me.

He’s scared to be alone with me. Fuck. That’s why he’s just staring at me, that’s why he’s stopped smiling. Deimos won’t be here to protect him now, doesn’t matter that Abel’s shoulder is back to being fine, just matters that Abel’s fucking scared of me and I hate that, hate everything about that.

Turn my head away, sick of looking at Abel, sick of seeing him look scared of me. Tried to do something nice for Deimos, fucked it up, tried to do everything nice for Abel and fucking that up more and more everyday. Woke up with my leg hurting but wanting to make the best of a shitty day anyway, not feeling like that anymore, just feeling like I want Abel to go away. Want to go on the balcony where he won’t bother me but can’t, know better than to try, leg something miserable right now.

Bed moves. Abel getting across it again, getting at me. Abel’s hand against my shoulder, his lips on my neck just behind my jaw. Asks if I want waffles or pancakes, tells me we can eat breakfast in bed, nips at the crest of my ear with his teeth.

Turn my head back to him. Say, “Waffles.”

Abel smiles, offering the curve of his mouth like an apology. His eyes are soft, pretty. He asks if I want him to bring the heating pad. Everything normal, making me think like maybe I imagined his fear. Abel gets the television turned on for me and gives me the remote before leaving, guess he figured out my leg’s bothering me, guess it’s pretty obvious I don’t feel like getting out of bed. He comes back again with the heating pad, worries a pert little frown at my leg when he helps me get everything arranged.

“Maybe you ought to have it looked at,” he says. He tucks his lip under his teeth, bites at the cute little scar. “It seems to be bothering you a lot more.”

Shrug, don’t give him anything snippy or sulky so he just looks more worried. Rub at my thigh, the twist and ruin of it, figure he’s probably right but don’t want to admit it. Just getting worse, no big deal, falling apart on Abel, kind of a depressing thought. Don’t want to admit to him I think it’s better this way, figure the odds are better if I keep my bad leg.

Abel leaves for a lot longer to make breakfast, nearly asleep again when he comes back. Breakfast in bed, on a tray and everything, Abel curled up next to me and trying to out sweet the fucking syrup. Wonder what the hell’s going on to make him act like this, so smiling and soft, all breathless happiness as he makes a big deal out of feeding me little squares of syrup-soaked waffle. Wonder if he’s that fucking happy Deimos is gone or just over compensating for letting his calm pretense drop, for letting me see his reaction to the news he’s stuck all alone with me again.

Not really a good day, not especially a bad day, just mediocre all the way through. Spend it in bed with Abel watching stupid crap on television. Ask him about his parents like I care about the answers, ask him about work like I can understand the answer. Anything to get him talking so I can lay there ignoring the bone-deep throb of my ruined leg.

Abel rubs my leg for me later, massages deep at the wrecked tissues so I hiss and groan, get snippy and have to apologize without actually saying I’m sorry. Lay sullen and cranky afterward, in a lot of pain and hating it, Abel makes dinner and encourages me to come eat it at the table with him. Do it just so he’ll shut up, drag my ass in there and swirl the noodles around through the sauce because my appetite’s vanished into the throbbing agony.

Get quiet about it, unresponsive so I can see worry eating at Abel’s attempted smile. Try to say something nice, tell Abel it tastes good, put the fork into my mouth in a way that’s mechanical. Eat enough that I can stop, stay seated at the table while Abel cleans up the kitchen. Hear him scraping food into the sink but not running the garbage disposal, just hear the quiet rush of water as he rinses our plates before loading them into the dishwasher.

Set my elbow on the table and lean into it, wait for Abel to be done, wait for this stupid day to be over, think maybe tomorrow will be better because I’m an idiot, because sometimes I like to think that shit gets better rather than worse.

Feeling rotten when Abel comes to collect me, take me back into the bedroom. Tell him I’m tired, say it like the excuse it is, lie down on the bed and point my eyes at the television. Abel fits up next to me, runs his hand over my shoulder and hips, doesn’t say anything so I’d almost rather he yell at me for it. Waste enough time that it gets late, have to leave the bed to get ready for bed, take my medicine like I’m supposed to and brush all my white square teeth, drink some water since I’m thirsty, boring stupid stuff that doesn’t seem worth doing but I have to do anyway.

Get settled in to sleep, Abel with the television volume turned down low. Glad the day’s over, hope maybe the next day will be better and don’t understand how it’ll be any different.

Almost asleep, feeling heavy and slow, eyes closed so I open them. The glow of the television flickering over Abel’s face, he’s sitting upright against the pillows with one hand idle against my shoulder.

Ask Abel if it’s okay Deimos left, if he’s mad about it. Dripping the words out thick and slow like syrup, maybe something sweet as well, barely awake but wanting to talk, wanting to know the answer even if I might not understand it.

“No,” says Abel. “Of course I’m not mad.” His fingers tickle over my bangs, brush the hair from my forehead.

“Scared?”

“Course not.” Scoffs it, trying to sound light and playful even though it’s not funny. Can hear the flippant responses getting tossed aside. Feel the lightness of his touch again, turn my eyes up to look at him. See him smile, just soft and sad about it. “I was just surprised earlier, when you told me. Did anything happen between you while I was away? It just seems sudden.”

“Mmhn.” Let my eyes close again, tip my face into his touch without making it obvious that’s why I’m shifting my head. Just getting into a more comfortable section of the pillow. “S’fine.”

“All right,” Abel says. “Then, I’m not worried about it.”

Pretty sure I’m asleep now, so fucking tired, bone-weary and dead about it, limbs heavy and everything distant. Pretty sure I’m asleep so I don’t know whose voice it is that slurs out in a flat mumble, “Only fucked him ‘cause I loved you.”

Silence. Stillness, his hand’s gone to statue against my hair. Just the flickering from the television, the muted hush of the lowered volume, the slight unsteady hitch of Abel’s careful breathing. He says, “Oh?” Like it’s getting squeezed out of him in a fight, the the single utterance choking him.

“Mmhm.” Shift into his hand, wonder why the fuck he’s stopped playing at my hair, wonder why the fuck I want him to keep at it, wonder who the fuck’s making all this noise if I’m asleep. “Scared ‘bout it. Not supposed to. Never told you. Wanted to.”

“I know,” he says. Hear him sigh, hear the television click off so it’s just darkness, just the quiet of the bedroom, the sound him breathing and me sleeping. “You did tell me.”

Get my eyes open but it’s still dark, the lights are off or I’m asleep. Don’t know what’s happening, everything so surreal. “I did?”

“Yes.” Abel’s fingers through my hair again. “It’s okay, Sacha. Go to sleep.”

“None of them were you.” Low and husky, just a smear of sound, hardly distinct words so it’s not even taking, it’s just groaning noise at him in a mumble.

Voice quiet, so quiet, voice like old velvet worn to fray, “I know.”

Nothing after that, just everything. 


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

At work on Tuesday I get two texts, pretty much back-to-back, one from Deimos and one from Cain. When I get Cain’s text, I decide to leave a little early. It’s just random letters, absolute garbage, he’s having a bad day but still remembers to let me know he’s there. He’s been out of sorts ever since I came back from visiting my parents, although it wasn’t like he’d been doing all that spectacular before I left either. He’s just being distant, quiet, sullen and sulky without seeming like he’s mad at me, so I try not to mind, try not to fuss, try not to suffocate him with how much I worry.

The text from Deimos is so long it comes in two separate submissions, so I’m confused at first only getting the final sentences. I have to scroll up to read it all.

_Hi Ethan, how are you? I’m doing fine back here on Colony 6, but I miss the taste of your tap water. Is that a strange thing to say? If you ever come visit, smuggle me a bottle of it. Well, obviously I’m not blowing my data limit just to text you about the water, so… The real reason for this message is that I wanted to reach out with an apology for how weird things got between us. Sacha likes to make things complicated, but he’s a good person when it comes down to it. I don’t want you to think that I left so suddenly because of you. I just had a personal matter pop up that needed my attention. I enjoyed getting to spend time with you and Sacha. Hope everything works out. Sacha’s bad at texting me back, so keep in touch for the both of you? I was just joking about the data limit. Pretty sure it’s unlimited._

I message Deimos back to tell him everything’s fine, that he doesn’t have to apologize. I’m not sure if I mean it or if I’m just being polite. If anything I’m more upset that Deimos would leave Cain alone like he did. Nothing happened, thank God, but I still get a strange shiver thinking about Cain by himself. It’s no different than when I leave Cain to go to work, I know that, I know I’m being hypocritical, but it gave me a brief scare all the same to realize I had come home to an empty house.

I’m not sure what to make of Deimos’ text. I’ve never been sure of what to make of Deimos, honestly. I guess I made things pretty awkward for Deimos, even if I did try to make things up to him there at the end. I text Cain as well, tell him I’ll be home soon. He responds a few hours later with just “k” but at least it’s something.

Deimos gets back to me right away, chattering happily about a shirt he found on sale, asking me what size I wear, sending me a picture of a jacket still on the rack at the store, asking if I think Cain would like it for Christmas. I’m a little surprised by it, answer vaguely with the phone under my desk so no one walking past will see me texting at work. He keeps at it, narrating almost the entire shopping trip to me, consulting my opinion on two different prints for new dishtowels. I tell him the pink ones are too much. He agrees and says that’s why they’re perfect.

When I come home Cain’s on the balcony even though it’s freezing, the cold makes him look like he’s smoking because of the white puffs of his breath. By the time I take off my gloves and coat, however, he’s come inside to lean against the arm of the sofa. He’s just watching me, eyes heavy and shoulders slumped. I offer him a smile as I hang my coat into the closet.

“Let’s go out,” he says.

“What?” I pause with my hand still on the hanger, the dense down of my coat still scrunched beneath my fist. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Cain says. “Let’s go riding.”

I try not to look as surprised as I feel. “Sure, that sounds nice,” I tell him. I slowly take my coat back out of the closet, pry it from the hanger. I get his jacket out for him as well, the heavy leather one, start hunting the rest of his winter gear up out of the depth of the closet. I’m nervous but don’t want him to see, distract myself by finding more things for Cain to bundle himself with since it’s cold. I find him a scarf and matching gloves in stretchy red knit that I forgot we owned.

Cain pushes up from the sofa and takes the winter gear from me, puts it on without complaint. He leans against the wall to get on his boots, but it’s a bit awkward for him all the same. I hold back from offering to help, get my gloves and coat back on and wait for Cain without looking like I’m waiting.

He’s slow getting down the hall to the elevator, so it worries me, makes me full of questions. I don’t know what else to do except go riding like Cain asked, because he’s been stuck in the apartment for over a week. I don’t blame him for wanting just any excuse to get outside. I should have thought to take him grocery shopping or something equally banal on Sunday, but it’d been a bad day from start to finish, one of those days where he’s quiet and distant.

Once we’re in the parking lot Cain says, “I’ll drive.”

I don’t want him to, but I can’t very well tell him that. I just have to agree, give him the keys, smile like he’s doing me a favor, doing something nice for me. I get behind him on the motorcycle and edge up close to his back, arms tight over his waist. I wonder if he’s nervous like I am, I wonder why the sudden insistence that we go out, that he drive. I would beg every other vehicle to clear the street if I could, because I am terrified of what might happen if Cain disagrees with traffic. I hate myself for thinking like that, for thinking I can’t trust Cain.

He’s slow and cautious again, just like when taking me to my doctor’s appointment the other week. I once again can’t tell if it’s because maybe he knows I’m nervous, or maybe he’s nervous, or maybe this really is how Cain drives and I don’t know that because it’s been so long. I think it’s too cold for this to be enjoyable, but it’s not so bad nestled up behind Cain. The visor on my helmet keeps the worst of it from my face, Cain’s body keeps my chest warm. I wonder if that’s why he wanted to drive or if I’m just being silly.

He takes us around the lake rather than up into the hills, just meandering through long thoroughfares and avoiding the highway. I wonder if he knows where he’s going. He probably doesn’t, he’s probably lost, tracking lazily north and west in broad, tacking kind of turns. It isn’t like we’re really lost, like there’s any destination he has in mind.

Eventually Cain coasts us to a stop in an empty parking lot, near enough the edge of the water that we can see across the lake. I spot our apartment building, start counting the floors and balconies to find our unit. Cain gets off the bike and pulls off his helmet. For a moment his hair retains the flattened shape until he pushes his gloved fingers through the dark strands, ruffling them back into place.

The sun’s moving lower into the sun, casting long orange streaks that are already beginning to darken. I’m glad I left the office early so we could do this. I’m not sure how Cain feels about it, if he enjoyed driving the motorcycle or if it was just something to do. I try to take it as a good sign he wants to do anything at all, that he stands there with the helmet under his arm looking out at the lake.

Cain sets the helmet on to the seat and starts walking. I hurriedly set my helmet aside so I can follow after him, curiosity clinging to my tongue but keeping silent. There’s a steep slope that tumbles off the end of the parking lot toward the water. Cain stops just where the lip of cement meets the grass and hunches his shoulders against the wind. There’s nothing for him to lean against, I wonder if that’s okay on his leg. I get up close to him, lean into him so maybe he’ll lean back. He puts an arm around my shoulders, tucks me into his side like he thinks I’m cold.

Cain asks, “Do you know how to swim?”

“Yes?” I’m not sure why I say it like a question. “Do you?”

“Never learned,” says Cain.

“Oh.”

“Bet I could figure it out pretty quick though.”

I look up at the smirking grin on Cain’s face. “Sure,” I tell him. “It’s not hard.”

Cain eyes the lake and then starts slowly down the slope. I can tell right away he won’t make it, that the angle’s too steep for his leg, that he’ll be lucky to get even halfway down without tumbling. I go after him, catch at his waist just when he starts to skid a little on the slick grass. Cain just laughs about it, digs his hand into me for balance and keeps edging slowly down toward the water.

I don’t think it’s funny at all, just confusing. “What are you doing?”

“Going for a swim,” says Cain. He wavers unsteadily, nearly trips, so I have to grab for him again and keep my own balance at the same time.

My bewilderment is rapidly and easily turning into worry. “It’s too cold for that.”

“Nah,” he says. “One time the climate systems broke on the colony, nearly killed everyone with how fucking cold it got. This is nothing.”

He’s made it down to the flatter section where the grass begins to thin out into scraggly drift, where the water laps with lazy consistency at the muddy trim. Cain tugs at his gloves and stuffs them into his pocket. I realize he’s serious, he actually wants to try swimming in the lake, and it makes me so panicked. I have no idea where this sudden idea has come from, what the hell Cain thinks he’s doing. It’s freezing, I don’t care that it isn’t absolute zero when it’s still cold, when the water must be colder still. We haven’t swim trunks or towels, the lake water is probably filthy anyway – I have no idea what Cain’s thinking, but it scares me.

As Cain unzips his jacket and starts to unwind the scarf from around his neck, my mind races frantically through some objection that won’t start a fight. “Sacha, why don’t—?“

Abrupt and sudden, much too close, some wailing burst of noise that makes me flinch. It’s just a siren, spinning lights and whirling high-pitched shrieking, a fire station somewhere exceptionally nearby responding to an emergency, creating one. I see the sudden way that Cain freezes, eyes going wide, all of him tense and alert. I’m just the same, staring at Cain with helpless, bracing horror.

A second siren joins the first. I hope it’s a huge burning inferno full of little kids and puppies for all the fuss they’re making, and I hope it all burns to the ground, too. I’m just so angry for a moment because of how terrified Cain looks, how he’s frozen in place with huge round eyes, pale and starting to tremble. He’s staring without focus, so I don’t think he actually sees me. I can’t even begin to imagine what he is seeing, what he’s thinking, what the screeching sirens are making him relive.

“Cain,” I say quickly, desperately. “Cain, it’s okay.”

Miraculously he nods, actually responds, nods like he understands what I’m saying. I hesitate, because by now I’d expect to be on the ground, to have Cain hunched over me. I take a cautious step toward him and set my hand against the stiff, shaking line of his arm. “Cain?”

He flinches at my touch, and I nearly pull my hand away. His tongue runs over his lips, I see him swallow rapidly and take short, frantic little breaths. There’s something twitchy about it, almost a sound to the panting, like he’s trying to say something but can’t. He scrunches his eyes closed and nods again, so tense and shaking but responding to me at least.

“Hey.” I grip him a little firmer, get closer. I stroke the tips of my fingers over his bangs. He winces his head aside and then keeps still, lets me caress his hair behind his ear. “It’s okay.” I speak as softly as I dare, as quiet as I can given the slowly fading cacophony of sirens.

Cain nods and shudders his breath in and out, still trying to say something but just whimpering instead. He stops only by clenching his jaw, everything about his expression twisted and pained. He breathes just through his nose now, stuttering and hitched about it. It hurts me to see him struggle like this, somehow almost worse than when he gets lost entirely. I can tell he’s scared and that hurts me, it’s so awful to see him like this.

I bite my lip and push all that aside, stay calm for Cain because he’s trying to stay calm for me. I press closer to him, pet more insistently at his hair and cheek. I kiss the tight line of his brow. He’s so tense, shaking so hard, just this miserable statue for me to try holding.

I speak to him slowly, insistent, coaxing softness into him with my hands and voice. “I’m right here. You’re here with me. Listen to me, baby, don’t listen to the sirens. It’s okay. It’s just a fire truck. Just a fire truck, baby, just some sirens. It’ll be over soon. Everything’s fine.” I kiss the side of his head, hold my lips there to shush at him just softly, whisper into his hair, “I’m right here, baby. Just stay with me.”

He nods against me, quick about it. It’s quieter now, the sirens getting distant and hushed. Cain bends into me slightly, breathes out a high-pitched whine and then sucks in the sounds of my name like a sob. “Ethan?”

I swallow hard, swallow the urge to cry. “Right here, Sacha. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Cain’s trembling still, shivering with fear and adrenaline as he puts his hand against my waist, rubs a slight caress at me like he just wants to make sure I’m real. Despite the cold he’s sweating, neck and forehead clammy when I kiss them. His eyes open so he can look at me – actually look at me, I know he’s seeing me now. He frowns at me with a painfully tight brow. His dark gaze is impossibly weighted and it isn’t long before he crumples, buries his face into my shoulder. He clings to me in shaking silence.

I run my hands over his back. “You’re okay.”

He nods into my shoulder, just so meek about it. I hold him until I can feel the jittery strain in his leg that’s shaking all the worse than the rest of him. He’s leaning against me pretty terribly, heavy and strong so I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold him up much longer.

I smooth my hands over his shoulders, rub as best I can through the thick leather of his jacket. “Sacha? Sacha, baby, let’s try sitting down for a bit.”

His forehead rolls over my shoulder as he shakes his head before lifting it. He drags himself a few inches up from the weighted lean. Eyes down, he won’t look at me now, he’s recovered enough to get embarrassed, feel ashamed. He’s trying to pull himself together in sullen, miserable silence.

I don’t point out that this is a good thing that’s happened, that I’m proud of his reaction. This could have been a lot worse and we both know it. I don’t think he understands what a good sign this is, how it’s just proof he’s slowly getting better. I know he doesn’t want to hear that from me, I know he doesn’t see it that way. Not right now, at least, not when he’s sweating and shivering with fear.

I take a deep breath and run my hand over his arm. “Baby, let’s sit down.”

He shakes his head again. He has to swallow before speaking, and his voice is raspy and worn, strained past a breaking point just like the rest of him. “Want to go home,” he says. So quiet, barely speaking at all, such a small way of saying it, and I could cry at how desolate he sounds.

I turn my eyes up at the sloped embankment. It was hard enough for Cain to get down here when gravity could do most the work. “Okay,” I say. I’ll drag Cain if I have to, he can’t be that much heavier than me.

I get under his shoulder and put my arm around his waist, but dragging him is pretty much what happens. He struggles up the slope and stays leaned into me for the short stagger over to the motorcycle. It’s dark now, even colder, so I gently remind him about his gloves, urge him to get the scarf wrapped tight under the collar of his jacket. He lets me fuss at him, sits passive and brooding on the back of the bike. He doesn’t ask to drive, which is for the best since I’d have to refuse.

For the ride back I strike a balance between reckless speed and careful maneuvering. I don’t want to be out a second longer than we have to, not with Cain wrapped tight against my back and his fingers clutched into me with painful force. I can still feel the tension in him, the fast shudder of his chest against my back. I don’t think he likes being on the bike right now, I think it’s making him nervous, but there’s nothing to be done about it other than hurry as much as I can while still being safe.

I have to help Cain off the bike once we’re parked, help him limp inside the building. He leans against the wall of the elevator, not leaning against me so much but I keep my hands on him anyway, brace him. He’s quiet, distant, staring down at nothing in particular. We’re almost there now, it’s just a short distance from the elevator to the apartment. I have to let him lean against the wall again so I can get the door open, and then it’s over, we’re back, we’re home.

Cain drags himself along the wall to get inside. I hurriedly help take up his weight again, pull him through the door and then kick it closed behind us. He heads for the couch first thing, tumbles facedown into the cushions and lies there in an awkward sprawl, still fully clothed and bundled into all the winter gear I forced on him, still wearing his helmet even. I have to fix that, get the helmet off him, get his boots off him, and he stays motionless while I do so.

“Sacha?” I kneel on the floor beside him and set my hand on the trembling line of his back. I nudge at him a little, just gently. “I’ll hang your jacket up,” I say. What I’m really asking him to do is take it off, but I don’t want to say that.

He shrugs at first, hunching defensively against my offer, before shifting to comply. It takes some effort for him to fight the zipper, roll his arms free, he’s so worn out and tired. Jacket, gloves, scarf, I take everything from him and go put it away. He’s on his back now, one arm up over his face and turned into the back of the sofa. I’m not sure what to do other than sit down next to him again, put my shoulder into the cushions and rest my head against him. He turns slightly and puts his arm over me, doesn’t say anything but I know what he means. Faint shivering trembles still radiate into his hands.

Later I get him to eat something, force us both to have dinner even though I don’t have any appetite. I watch a little television with him still on the couch, match his silence but stay near him, touch at him every so often. I make him use the heating pad a little but I don’t think it helps. I bring him his medicine and some water, help him out of his jeans and sweater when he refuses to go to the bedroom. I can’t carry him and it’s not worth dragging him. I get his pillow and some of the blankets off the bed, get the fleece we use when watching movies. I make him get comfortable, make sure he’s warm, fuss and fuss because he lets me, doesn’t say a word about it.

I sleep next to him, curled upright against the cushions, head pillowed over my folded arms. It’s not comfortable, I wake several times in the night. Each time I check on him, see him look almost peaceful in his sleep, there’s just a small bracket of a frown to either side of his mouth. I smooth my fingers over his forehead, kiss his cheek, settle down again to watch the slow up and down of his chest.

There’s grey light filtering through the balcony when Cain wakes me up with a nightmare. I’m barely asleep anyway, so when he starts panting and shaking I hear him, feel him. I straighten quickly, pet at his bangs and try hushing comfort to him. He’s got his face scrunched up, straining, whining from his throat, and then I think he’s awake by the sudden way his eyes open as he breaks into gasps. Mixed into the breathless terror are words. “Abel – the attack sirens, we have to – Abel, get up!”

Not awake, not really, he’s grabbing for me all the same and panicking, trying to get off the sofa. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Everything’s—“

“Abel, it’s the attack alert!”

“No, it’s just a false alarm, baby.” I push him into the cushions, firm but gentle. “It’s a false alarm, Cain, it’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

He stares at me, dark eyes unnerving, too intense, he’s digging his hands into my arms. His chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

“Just a false alarm, baby. Everything’s fine.”

Tension slacks off his shoulders, his fingers unclench from me. He sags down into the sofa again, eyes closing, sighing out the last of his ragged panting. I soothe at him, stroke the blanket over his chest. I’m not sure he knows it’s me anymore, I think he’s already fallen back asleep. I’m tired, stiff-jointed with my leg asleep from the awkwardness of how I’m rested. My leg’s the only part of me able to fall asleep again, however. I just sit there watching Cain until the sun comes up, until I have to start getting ready for work. 


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Too cold to sit on the balcony, have to sit with her in the living room. I’m not the one who thinks it’s too cold, she is, don’t know why she didn’t bring a thicker coat. I’d go sit on the balcony if it were up to me, sit and freezing my fucking ass to the chair, puff white vapor like its smoke. Balcony is where I’m supposed to sit, where Abel won’t come bother me, where everything I say isn’t trapped in the same room where Abel kisses me, where pictures of Abel decorate the walls, where Abel might come home early from work and catch us talking.

Not talking today, don’t feel like it, sit quietly like I’m supposed to. Don’t have to like this, just have to do it, promised Abel I would. She tries asking me about the week, about Abel going to visit his parents, about Deimos leaving. Bet she wants to ask about the blankets I shoved out of the way for us to sit on the sofa, bet she’s curious why my pillow’s lumped against my back.

Slept on the couch because it was a miserable fucking day, still feeling wretched about it, don’t like thinking about what happened at the lake. Don’t like a lot of things right now, can’t do anything about it. Just have to sit and wait for it to be over, just have to wait out the hour until it’s over.

She keeps talking at me, asking me a lot of things, telling me a lot of things. Only realize I haven’t said a single fucking word to her when it’s almost over, when she points it out, says she’s concerned, tries to ask again if anything happened with Abel. Asks me if she needs to talk to Abel. Know she’s baiting me with it, know she’s just looking for a reaction. She’s not allowed to talk to Abel about me, she already fucking promised that she wouldn’t talk to Abel about me, what’s the fucking point of telling her all the stuff I can’t tell Abel if she’s just going to tell Abel anyway.

Don’t say anything. Just look at my hands because there’s no aquarium, no lake, nothing to look at besides Abel’s stupid face in the pictures, Abel’s silly furniture, the wall color that’s just three shades more creamy than the bare white the walls were before he painted. Everything Abel in the living room. Liked it better when we sat on the balcony. Balcony’s mine, Abel won’t go out there unless I say it’s okay.

Feel trapped sitting inside. Hate that it’s cold. Never too cold on the colonies, never too warm either, bland and regular, four walls and a door, spent a year there doing nothing. Doing nothing now, just waiting for the day to be over, spend all my time just waiting for when I can be asleep, don’t even dream anymore just sleep, close my eyes at night and opened them again in the morning, stay awake just so I can be asleep later.

Want Abel to get home. Not sure what I’d do with him, don’t feel like doing anything, can’t do anything but sit here. Already proved that enough times, can’t go anywhere, can’t be trusted to leave the apartment, four walls and a door, trapped here, stuck here all the time.

Beth checks her watch, tells me we’re out of time, thank fucking God we’re out of time. See her still sitting around like maybe she’s going to wait for Abel to come home, hope it’s one of those days when someone stops by his desk to chat, keeps him just a few minutes late.

She says goodbye, says it like she’s worried, looking at me carefully as she puts on her coat. Figure it’s not worth getting myself in trouble, worth having her tell Abel I didn’t say anything. Told Abel I’d do this, promised him when I signed those papers, knew I was done trying to end it on my own when I came back. Figure I’ll let Abel decide when it’s over, figure it’ll really be over if he decides it is, figure there’s not much point being around without Abel.

Look at her. Say, “Bye. See you Saturday.”

See how it surprises her. Must really have surprised her if she’s showing it. Takes her a second to reply. “Sure, I’ll see you Saturday. Take care, Sacha.”

So she’s gone, that’s great, just me sitting alone in the empty apartment waiting for Abel. Sick of sitting here feeling trapped. Felt the same yesterday, wanted to get out, wanted to just go do anything other than sit here but don’t know what to do. Deimos gone back home, didn’t realize I’d miss him being around the apartment when Abel’s at work. Liked having someone else around even if it was just Deimos.

Get my phone out and see he’s texted me some. Message him back six words that take forever to type. Don’t like messaging, not very good at it, can’t tap fast at the screen like he can, not even all that great of a phone. Something Abel got for me since I broke my old one after I left. Broke my phone and regretted it later, puking drunk in a filthy dive bar toilet and missing Abel so hard it hurt, felt like calling Abel and couldn’t, didn’t know his number. Just always had it in my phone under Ethan. Heard all his messages for Cain, saying the number’s in my phone as Ethan like I don’t know that. Picked a fight that night, picked a fight I thought I’d lose, got a scar over my ribs instead to prove I’m just some asshole who can’t stand to lose a fight, can’t quit even after all this.

Get my jacket on to leave. Can’t stand sitting here anymore. Cold outside, get a scarf and some gloves, figure I might as well not be stupid about it. Plenty of time still before Abel gets home from work, enough time to at least get outside for a bit. Sick of the balcony, feel trapped out there, too, hate sitting out there alone but don’t know what else to do.

Better outside. Brisk air, snappish with cold, see my breath turn white like it’s smoke. Start walking, not going anywhere, just going. Get my leg burning with it, going too fast, have to slow down and lean against a parking meter. Wish I had a cigarette to smoke just so I wouldn’t look so awkward about it.

Keeping walking but go slower, less like running away, not afraid of some stupid apartment. Just want to go for a walk. Curious what’s down this street, never been down it before. Not very exciting. Pick another street. Less exciting. Don’t know why I thought otherwise.

Tired of walking now. Leg hurts, nothing I can do about it. Turn around and start walking back. Shit at directions, not a navigator, can’t remember which street leads where. Fucking streets all so fucking stupid they look the same. Takes longer than I want to figure it out. Walk in the wrong direction and only realize it when the numbers get smaller, the buildings new again.

Turn around and go in the right direction. Phone buzzes and keeps vibrating, jolting around in my pocket. Just one person ever calls me, know without looking it’s Abel. Pull out my phone and see his name popped up on the screen.

Answer with, “Hey.”

“Sacha?” Terrified. “I – hi, baby. Hi, it’s Ethan.” Stumbling over the words.

Like I don’t know that. Not sure what to say. Can guess why he’s calling. Try not to sound as insulted as I feel. “Yeah, what’d you want?” Comes out rude anyway.

He’s not sure what to say either, I can hear it in the little hush of his quick breaths. He better not be crying.

Tell him, “Went for a walk.”

Hear a shaky outrush of air, long and delicate. “Okay.” Again, with more confidence. “Okay. That’s – okay, Sacha, sorry for calling. Are you – will you be coming home soon? I, uh, I thought about starting dinner now, but I could wait.”

All his stupid fucking messages after I left, trying not to seem panicky and then getting panicked when he realized I wasn’t coming back, wasn’t just out for cigarettes and booze. “Yeah,” I say. Try to seem nice about it. “Okay.”

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Okay, great. I’ll just, um, start cooking, so – see you here in a bit?”

“Sure.”

Put the phone back in my pocket. Walk a little faster so my leg gets to burning, have to lean heavy in the elevator when I get back. Wait in the hall until it’s a bit better, won’t be so breathless about it when I walk inside and see Abel. Take off my scarf and gloves, jacket and boots. Apartment smells fucking delicious.

Find him in the kitchen, at the sink with the water running, dumping scraps of cut up vegetables. Guess he didn’t hear me come in the door. Get all the way up to him without him noticing, arm around his waist, pulling him into me slightly.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Say it into his ear with a nibble. Guess I’m still thinking about all those messages he left, the frantic way he tried to seem calm on the phone. Guess he didn’t like coming home to an empty apartment anymore than I liked sitting in one.

“Sacha!” He gasps sharply, jerks his hand from the garbage disposal switch. He twists to face me, relief so brilliant over his stupid pretty face that I’m almost angry about it, mad he has to look so fucking sad and scared all the time because of me.

Kiss the soft fluff of his hair, press my lips into the top of his head, don’t say anything because I’m being a fucking idiot. Soft and stupid for my dumb fucking navigator. Hold him to my chest until he relaxes into it, leans into me.

“I need to stir the rice,” he says at last. Like an apology.

Go do it for him, shove the wooden spoon around the rice and sauce and vegetables. Rice pops out of the skillet, gets over the counter. Stir with a bit less force next time. Feel his eyes on me, watching me.

“How was your day?” he asks. Quietly like I’m not going to answer, like he doesn’t want to ask but feel obligated, wonder if Beth ratted me out after all.

Decide to be honest. “Sucked.”

“Did anything happen?” So fucking timid about it. Guess he doesn’t want to ask but just feels like he has to, has to say something to me while I’m standing there stirring this fucking rice. So much rice in the pan it keeps trying to fall out, wonder why the fuck Abel didn’t use something bigger.

“Nope.” Still being honest, maybe less so. Shrug some. “I saw Beth and went for a walk.”

“With Dr. W—Beth?” Abel leans into the counter beside me. “Did you go for a walk with her?”

“No, after she left.” Should have lied and said she drug me around the block and bailed, except Abel wouldn’t believe it. Not sure why he even asked. Not sure why he’s asking me any of this. Turn it around at him, sick of talking about my dumb life, look at him sharp and ask, “How was work?”

Makes him smile instead, warm, soft and stupid, dumb fucking navigator smiling at me. “Work was fine.” He leans over and turns off the stove. He makes some stupid wafting gesture at the rice, like his measly contributing breeze will make it cool faster. “Do you want to watch a movie while we eat? If you go get it set up, I’ll throw this into some bowls for us.”

Stare at him so long it makes us both nervous. Say, “Yeah, okay.” Let go of the wooden spoon, back away from the stove. Go into the living room. Get the blanket and remote, get comfortable, stretch out some since my leg’s hurting, walked too damn fast there at the end.

Doesn’t take Abel long to finish in the kitchen, bring the two bowls with two forks and two dishtowels. Ask him to find the heating pad while he’s up, shift around so he can get it under my thigh when he brings it to me. Leave enough room for Abel to sit as well. Watch the movie while we eat like he said, pause the movie so Abel can take our empty bowls and clean up the kitchen.

Abel talks with me while he does it, asks if I saw anything interesting on my walk. Tell him it was pretty fucking boring. Abel reminds me about the walking path around part of the lake, goes from outside our building to who the fuck knows where. Suggests I try that next time. He turns off the water, dries his hands, comes back around to sit with me.

Looking nervous about his suggestion, pretty fucking obvious he’s nervous. Not sure what to say to him, don’t want to admit I know what he’s thinking, kind of pissed he’s thinking it. Have to text him when he’s at work so he knows I’m still around. Bet he likes thinking of me safe in the apartment, bet he liked when Deimos was around to keep an eye on me, bet he really was crying into the phone earlier.

Really not fucking sure what to say to him. Tell him to finish the movie, ask him how he thinks it’ll end, get him talking about something else. Get him lying down on me, bit fucking awkward with the heating pad and the bad leg but manage it anyway, his head against my shoulder, cheek into me so he can see the screen. All that blond fucking fluff under my nose and smelling like Abel.

Finish the movie, watch the credits and make fun of the names, try to find the stupidest ones before Abel can but he reads faster than me, usually finds them first. Start kissing Abel since he’s right there, just have to turn our faces together, he’s so fucking soft to kiss that I know for sure he was crying earlier. Kiss him anyway, kiss him because he’s soft, kiss him until we go to the bedroom.

Put Abel into the pillows, kiss him more, kiss his cute stupid nose and small folded ears, kiss the red mark on his shoulder from my teeth, kiss the hollow of his throat, kiss the pale curve of his nails when he reaches for me. Run my fingers through his hair, bend him into me, get him pink-cheeked and pretty.

Take off his clothes like unwrapping a present in pretty fucking paper, slow and deliberate so it won’t tear like you want to reuse it later. Catch his hands when he reaches for me, hold them to the bed, kiss and nip at his thigh. Show him something nice with my mouth until he starts moaning, rolling his back into the pillows, toes curling and little hands flexing against mine.

Tell Abel later it’s just that I’m tired, that my leg hurts. Take my medicine for the night and lie in bed with him, hold him up against me, tell him it’s just that I’m tired. 


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

Making dinner would go a lot faster if Cain would get the camera out of my face, but I’m not about to tell him that. I just smile and nod as if entranced by yet another picture of some leaves along the walking path. Cain thumbs over to show me the next one, which is a dead bird he found half-stuck in the icy fringe of a puddle.

“Fucking sad, right?” he asks. He snorts some as if amused by this, laughing with a smirk that is dark and wicked and so very him.

I try not to grin like an idiot in return as I elbow my way around him to reach the sink to dump in handful of potato skins. It’s our new routine, almost, the way that Cain shows me what he saw on the day’s walk. I can barely get through the door sometimes before he’s in my face wanting to show me something. It’s never anything that interesting, so I’m never sure what it is Cain’s so excited about, but I’ve cried in the shower sometimes realizing that Cain is _excited_ about something.

As Cain complains about the old camera, the same one I’ve had since college, I idly think maybe I should get him a brand-new very expensive high-quality one for Christmas. It’d make a nice gift. I already bought him a sweater, I know that’s a boring present, but Deimos talked me into it. There’s already a gift for each us from him under the tree. It’s not really a tree. It’s a pyramid of beer cans Cain talked me into making the other night. Cain decided it was our tree when I asked if he wanted to go get one. He stuck a pine bough into the top can. It’s awful. I love it.

It’s been a slew of good days, too many all in a row that I get scared sometimes they’re not real. I don’t know why. I don’t know what the difference is, just that Cain started sending me low-quality pictures from his phone one day. From the walking path around the lake, he’s been going for walks – Cain leaves the house, by himself, and comes back, without anything bad having happened to him. I am so guilty for how happy that makes me.

I know the price for all these good days, for the nights that Cain’s too tired and clumsy to chase me into the office. He hasn’t done anything like that since Deimos left, since before, since Dr. Warren changed his medication. Our nights are quiet and peaceful, for the most part. He still has nightmares, still shakes me awake with frantic terror, but it’s not anything I can’t handle myself. That’s the price, and I suppose he’s made peace with it about as much as I have. It’s more surprising that he has, considering, but I won’t dare bring it up to him. I just accept it. It’s the price for so many good days.

And of course it’s been so many good days, and I’m smiling as I try to keep one eye on the camera and one eye on the kitchen prep, and I’m trying to talk to Cain and joke with him that I don’t think about it. I forget. I have been so careful for so long, but I look right at Cain and smile as I reach for the little switch against the wall. The garbage disposal whirls to life with grinding horror. 

Oh, God.

I can’t believe I forgot. I never run the disposal when he’s around. I know better than that. It’s loud, it’s too loud, it’s like sirens and fireworks and all those things that just can’t happen if I want it to be a good day, and oh have I loved having so many good days.

There must be a spoon down the drain, because the caught bit of metal is disgustingly, wretchedly loud as it churns, like the noise needed to be any worse than normal. Cain drops the camera. It breaks and pieces scatter, bursting out across the tile in an explosion of ruin.

“Sacha—“ I start to say. High pitched and desperate, gasping, breathless. Utterly terrified. It’s the first beginning of my plea for us to keep this day as a good one. I don’t care if camera’s broken. Surely he’s just startled. Anyone would be. It’s loud. It’s not a nice sound.

Cain snarls. It’s not a nice sound either.

“Sacha, Sacha it’s okay. I’m sorry, baby. I’ll—“ I jolt toward the disposal switch again, intent on ending this, and that’s when it happens. No warning, except for the low, feral growl he’s making like a rabid dog, before he decks me. Hard, no warning, I’m not expecting it, why would I expect it on such a good day?

I stagger back, more shocked than hurt, and Cain pursues me. He slams me against the counter with enough force that a flash of fear stiffens my spine and constricts my throat with a gasp. I put a wide-eyed gaze into the blacked over fury in his eyes, and I know he isn’t seeing me. This isn’t one of those times I’m the Abel he’s trying to save.

“Cain.” I try anyway, I try desperately to reach him “Cain, it’s okay.” My voice is shaking, I’m shaking, my face is finally starting to hurt where he hit me.

He has my arm gripped with bruising strength. He’s going to hit me again, I know it. I flinch, jerking back against the counter, but there’s nowhere to go. We struggle for a moment, banging off the cabinets and scuffling our socks over the tile, kicking each other and getting tangled. I get an elbow to the ribs, another blow to the face that sets my ears to ringing. He’s strong, so strong, there’s real muscle under the scrabbling flail of my hands as I try to push him off me.

“Cain, no! Stop, it’s me, it’s Abel,” I beg him. I’m having to shout over the stupid fucking garbage disposal, and my throat feels hot and tight with the clogged burn of unshed tears. I throw myself forward to get away from him, so he can’t hit me again.  

“Where’s Abel?” he yells, turning to come after me.

I dart around the counter, throwing, “Cain, I’m Abel!” over my shoulder at him as I leave the kitchen. The office, I have to get to the office to put the door between us. The disposal’s still going. That spoon is getting shredded into shavings. With any luck it’ll wreck the gears and break the whole damn thing into silence, but of course that’s not going to actually happen. I have to get into the office.

I can hear Cain coming after me, snarling, yelling, he wants Abel and wants to know what I’ve done with Abel, and he’s going to kill me if I’ve hurt Abel.

“Where’s Abel, you son of a bitch!” Cain grabs me. When did he get so fast, what about his limp? All those walks have to be doing him some good, I realize with a biting edge of hysteria. He spins me toward him and, oh God, my hand goes right across his face with a loud slap.

“I’m Abel!” I scream at him.

I’m suddenly furious. It was a good day, it was a lot of good days, and I just made one stupid mistake. I was careless for a single moment. I don’t deserve this kind of punishment, I don’t need this to ruin my good day, why did I even get an apartment with a garbage disposal if I can’t use it to get rid of some stupid fucking potato skins.

I shove at Cain, hard. I knock him against the wall with how hard I shove him. I’m the one pinning him against the wall for once, I’m the one snarling like a rabid dog. “Look at me, Cain! I’m Abel! _I am Abel!_ ”

I’ve shocked him into silence. I can tell the moment he snaps out of it. He’s just staring at me, eyes wide, he’s starting to shake, he’s staring at me and seeing me. He knows I’m Abel. His gaze is centered on my face, just beneath my nose, where there’s a wet drip that tickles. Blood, I’m bleeding, it’s just a stupid bloody nose that barely even hurts with the way my heart’s pounding agony in my chest. I put a red mark on Cain’s cheek where I slapped him.

It’s a shaky, weird, hysterical kind of fury where I’m so terrified I’ve looped right back around into being terrible. “I’m Abel,” I hiss at Cain.

He nods a little, round eyes still locked on my nose.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.

“I hit you,” he says. Nearly whimpering it, succumbing to guilt and despair right before my eyes. The good day is vanishing, gone, evaporated up into nothing like a room full of smoke.

“Sacha, I’m _fine_.”

Cain shakes his head, he’s shaking all over and trying to cringe out from under me. “You’re bleeding,” he says. He gets his hands between us and pushes at me, pleadingly soft with the effort so it’s more like a suggestion than anything. I let go of his arms, because I had him slammed up against a wall this time, and back off like he wants.

I scrub under my nose, smear blood over my back of my hand. “So?” I shoot back.

Cain shakes his head again, slow and miserable, looking like something beaten and wretched as he keeps putting guilty glances to my face. Normally I’d be tripping over myself with sickly sweet reassurances, I’d be terrified of his guilt that forms this nightmare between us, I’d be doing anything other than glaring at him, sniffling blood and tears as I stand there trying to catch my breath and calm down. The stupid garbage disposal is still whirling, so I leave Cain to go put a stop to its unnecessary contribution.

It’s sudden silence now. I run some water into the sink, splash a little on my face and watch it run pinkish with blood. I stand there with my eyes closed, trying to breath deep, trying to calm down.

I hear the front door open, and I nearly stub my toe on the broken camera as I kick it out of the way in haste. “Sacha!” I yelp, near to shrieking his name, running around the kitchen counter and getting through the living room to reach him in time.

He’s at the door, head down and shoulders up, trembling a hold over the knob.

“Where are you going?” I demand. My voice is shrill, shaky, ready for panic, because of that year he left, because of all the times I’ve been scared he’ll do it again and never come back.

Cain doesn’t look at me. He just stands there in the open doorway, back to me, caught in the act of trying to walk out the door. My nose is still bleeding, I can feel it, I’m dripping over my shirt and maybe on to the carpet as well. I sniffle in a wet, unattractive way and smear under the bruised tenderness with the back of my hand.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much.

“Are you leaving?” No panic anymore, just anger. I’m furious, because of that year he left, because of all the times I’ve been scared he’ll do it again and never come back. “Are you running away?” My voice is sharp and shrill, broken glass to cut him, I can see the way my anger flinches over his skin like knives.

Cain won’t look at me. He just puts his shoulders up, like that’s going to help deflect the blows. He hasn’t got his jacket, scarf, gloves – it was snowing earlier, when I was on my way home from work, so if he’s going outside he’ll need more than just a t-shirt and jeans. I stare at him, anger building, frustration churning, fear slamming against my ribs like a bird against a window, the poor stupid thing unable to understand it’s just glass.

“Go on!” I yell. I assault the closet door to get it open. I grab his jacket, scarf, gloves, throw these things at him with ineffective violence. “Get out! Leave!”

I will surely disturb the neighbors, the little old lady down the hall isn’t so deaf that she can’t hear my shrill screaming. I have never spoken to Cain like this. I have never spoken to anyone like this. I feel as if it’s not that I’m just mad, but that I have _gone_ mad. Hot tears sting and blur my vision of Cain as he slowly shrugs into the jacket I’ve thrown at him.

Cain wraps the scarf around his neck. He looks at me then, eyes dark, expression solemn, hangdog misery, nothing to him except hollow ruin. “Ethan,” he says. That’s it, just my name, pleading and soft, like maybe he wants to apologize, like maybe an apology can fix me, can bring him across the doorway.

I glare at Cain. Fury pumps blood through the ragged shatter of my heart. “You coward,” I say to him. Biting, accusative, venomous, a cobra strike of calculated insult.

He flinches, looks away. Limps down the hall with his leg getting dragged like the anchor it is. Didn’t seem to bother him so much earlier, chasing me around the apartment. Maybe half of that’s just in his mind, same as the rest, same as the places he goes where there is no Abel despite the fact I’ve always been right here with him.

I step back into the apartment. I slam the door hard enough to make myself flinch, to make the photo collage from shore leave that I’ve hung in the entry tremble. Something wet tickles across my lip, and I angrily rub at it.

My hand comes away wet, glistening with something of blood and tears alike. My hand starts to shake as I stare at it. Oh, God, what have I done? I yelled at Cain. _I_ yelled at _him_.

I collapse to the floor, my knees no longer willing or able to support my trembling. Desperate, heartbroken sobs devastate me, heave me into wracking shudders as it sinks in just what I have done, just what my momentary loss of control has caused.

It had been such a good day.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Walk fast, walk hard, trying to run just like Abel said, running away from him because I’m a coward, Abel standing there spitting mad, like when he gets feisty and think it’s hot except for the way it hurts, not feisty just pissed. Hit Abel, bruised Abel, made Abel bleed, didn’t mean to hurt Abel. Broke the camera, think I dropped and broke it, don’t really remember that. Was standing there showing Abel the shit I took pictures of, taking pictures is just like shooting ‘Terons, get the target lined up in the crosshair and push the button.

Wish I hadn’t broke the camera, wish I hadn’t hit Abel, wish I hadn’t turned left at that last light because now I don’t know where I am. Not going anywhere, just going, running away from Abel like the coward he said I was, couldn’t save Abel on the mission, can’t ever save Abel again, only thing around trying to hurt Abel anymore is me, Abel standing there bleeding and crying because I hit him.

Cold out, breath making white puffs, breathing fast and hard, leg burning, leg hurts, chest hurts, hurt Abel. Need to stop walking, need to stop running, lean up against a brick wall and feel it rough and cold against my cheek. Catch my breath. Big heaving gulps of icy air. Air on Earth gets cold like nothing, biting cold, piece of shit colony regulators broke the once and nearly froze to damn death with the cold.

Roll my shoulders into the wall. Get the weight off my leg. Fucking sweat everywhere, under my arms and across my face, down my back. Too cold for sweating. Muscles shivering, knees weak, feel like shit, can’t catch my breath.

Going to sit the fuck down for a bit. Leg hates that, gets twitchy, spasms. Feel too hot. Take off my gloves, wrestle the scarf so it nearly chokes me, maul the zipper open on my jacket, pant like some fucking dog in July.

Sitting’s better. Catch my fucking breath finally. Nice piece of shit alley I’ve found, ground so cold it feels like wet pressing up against the ass of my jeans. Zip my jacket back up, loop the scarf so it won’t get lost, shove the gloves in my pocket.

Sit there, one knee up to lean my head against, fuck the other leg for being useless, twitching in a way that hurts bone-deep. Wish I had the heating pad, Abel’s graceful little fingers working delicious torture, God-fucking-dammit don’t cry you piece of shit.

Get up eventually. Takes for fucking ever, real fucking embarrassing, glad no one’s around to see me pushing at the wall and dragging a bum fucking leg.

Realize I’m getting stared at, two gleaming cat-eyes in the shadows coming closer. Mangy fucking ratty looking thing, skin and bones, grimy and wrecked like the boot-tramped, oil-stained, dirt-smeared snow that’s everywhere. Same color, used to be white, half-starved and filthy. Would look dead if it wasn’t moving. Probably hungry, thinks it’ll get fed.

“Sktt.” Sneer, clap at it, try scaring it off because I don’t have any food.

Cat just stares at me.  Big eyes, blue eyes, pretty like sapphires, staring at me. Probably thinks I’m the ratty looking pathetic one. Cat’s not limping, cat doesn’t have a bad leg, cat’s got four good legs. Meows at me.

Say to it, “I don’t have any food.”

Doesn’t stop it from staring at me, meowing, getting closer. Fucking thing’s so skinny it hurts to look at it. Rubs at my ankles, flicks up the wire-brush fluff of its tail.

“Go away.” Clap again, loud, noise echoing off the cement and brick and hurting my palms with the cold sting of it.

Cat still doesn’t care, dumb that way, just some stupid skinny stray cat a couple more missed meals away from dying.

“You’re ugly as sin. All that white shows the dirt too easily. Guess you might clean up nice.” Don’t know why I’m talking to a fucking cat but I am. Kneel down, bad leg cramping, have to stick it out funny to manage. Cat backs off a little then comes right back at me, purring against my hand, butting its head against my knee. Big blue eyes like sapphires, piece taken out of its ear like it’s been brawling around, matted fur that needs brushing.

Unzip my jacket a little, pick the cat up, all bones and skin in my hands. Stuff the cat into my jacket and zip it back cozy and warm, purring, guess the cat doesn’t mind if it’s purring like that. Vibrating like it might fucking break, never heard a cat purr that loud, fucking motorcycle throttle for a throat.

Get upright, get the cat situated. Whiskers and then a nose, ears, face, cat poking around under my chin like it wants to see where I’m going, using me for a free fucking ride. Stupid dumb cat probably thinks I have food. Hungry too, not so hungry as the cat, not skin and bones with one skipped meal, Abel was making dinner but that was hours ago.

Fuck, Abel. Can’t go home to Abel, him yelling at me, telling me to leave, finally not looking scared all the time just angry. Don’t blame him, bloodied up his nose, bruised him, hit Abel and hurt him.

“Guess you don’t have a home we can crash, huh?” Talking to the damn cat again, stupid thing just purring, so fucking happy even though I haven’t fed it yet. Stupid cat. No cats on the colonies, waste of resources, probably end up in someone’s stew pot. Saw them in movies growing up, all that Earth shit that’s too good for us colony trash.

“I had a fish once,” tell the cat. “Like as a pet. But guess you’d have just tried to eat him.” Don’t tell the cat it’s my fault Reliant’s not around anymore, killed my fish same night I bruised Abel, got to stop thinking about Abel.

Start walking like I got a fucking clue where I’m going. Can’t be that hard to figure out. Sun comes up over the lake in the mornings, made Abel insist the bedroom look over the parking lot instead, gives the balcony a nice view, just got to walk in the direction the sun comes up. Stupid fucking Earth has directions, easier in space, colonies do it by gravitation point, what the fuck does this street sign mean with a W in the corner. Stare up at it.

Cat still purring, warm. Guess it likes being in my jacket. Going to have to wash my shirt. Probably has fleas.

Pick a direction at random. Walk that way for a bit. Don’t have anywhere to go, can’t go home, maybe call Abel and tell him I’m sorry, ask if I can at least get something to feed the cat, damn thing’s just skin and bone, purring like it thinks I’m going to feed it soon.

Decide to call Abel. Think maybe I’ve been gone long enough. Think maybe if I say I’m sorry he’ll tell me I can come home again, I can ask him which way to go, he’s the fucking navigator not me, don’t know why I try going anywhere without him.

Have to keep one hand over the bump of the cat inside my jacket. Don’t want to lose my balance, stupid fucking leg, going to lean against a car and get my phone from my pocket. Shift, get a hip on the car door.

Loud, fucking loud as hell, car alarm blaring panic into the night, motherfucking car alarm like anyone gives a shit about stealing some rust bucket piece of shit.

“Fuck!” Yell it, heart pounding, shaking, need to get away from the attack, it’s the alert, the noise—

Realize the cat doesn’t give a shit, still purring. Purring near as loud as the car alarm, how the fuck is the cat not yowling, stupid motherfucker just purring against my chest. Pull the cat out of my jacket, cat confused by that, meows at me. Wants to steal more of my body heat, stupid cat all skin and bones, fur too matted and dirty to keep it warm. Stare at the cat, car alarm still going crazy right behind it, cat just staring at me with big blue sapphires.

Put the cat on top of the car hood, let go. Surely cat’s going to take off running, right on top of the noise now, no one holding it somewhere warm. Surely the cat hates it. Cat just sits there, twists, starts to lick its leg.

“Hey!” Yell at the cat. “Hey, dumbass!” Clap my hands together, stamp my feet.

Cat ignores me.

Grab the cat, stuff it back in my jacket, get away from the car because I don’t like the alarm, can’t believe the cat doesn’t give a shit, fucking Zen master kind of cat.

Cat meows, goes back to purring. Stupid motherfucker thinks I have food.

Get leaned into a wall, somewhere around the block, can’t hear the car alarm but probably because it wore out or the owner came out to shut it up. Heart pounding, sweating like I tried running again, knees shaking, fucking hated that car alarm. Search my pockets, front one first, back ones as well. Can’t find my phone. Left without my goddamn phone.

Cat purring at me still. Put a hand into my jacket, try petting the damn thing but it’s covered in mats and fleas and dirt. Feel a scratchy wet tongue go over me, scraping at my fingers, damn cat thinks I’m food. Guess I better find it some food before it eats my hand.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I’ve never called her this late, but I don’t know what else to do. My cheeks are stinging from the cold, my eyes are burning with frustrated tears, I’ve got Cain’s phone clenched in one hand. I found it on the coffee table or, rather, heard it bouncing all around on vibrate when I finally tried calling. It’s been hours since Cain left. I went out looking for him, just now, jogged all around the walking trail at the lake, came home to find him still gone.

The phone keeps ringing. What if she doesn’t answer? What if she _does_ answer? I abruptly hang up, toss my phone on to the couch cushions like it’s caught fire, stare like it’s still burning. I can’t tell Dr. Warren about the fight, about what I said to Cain, how I yelled at him, how it took a half-hour for my nose to finally quit bleeding.

I sink on to the couch next to my phone. This can’t be happening. I keep thinking Cain will walk through the door at any moment, I keep thinking I’ll wake up to find this was all some awful dream. I can taste what I said to Cain as bitter regret, tangible and terrible.

My phone rings, it’s Dr. Warren returning my call, I just start crying with awful, panicky weakness that immediately disgusts me. I let the call go to voice mail. Cain’s phone rings next, I didn’t even know she had Cain’s number but of course she does. Of course he does. He even has her entered into his contacts as _Beth_.

Both phones are silent now. I stop crying, so I’m silent as well. I sit there in the silence of the apartment until it’s too much, I can’t just sit still. I get back to my feet, put on my coat, pull a knit hat on over my cold ears. I leave Cain’s phone on the coffee table, so he can call me when he comes home ( _when_ he comes home, not if, _when_ ). I find the pad of paper I use to write grocery lists and turn to a fresh sheet.

_Sacha – I’ve gone out. Please call me. I love you – Ethan_

I write rather large across the page, leave it right there on the table near his phone. Put on the lights, all the lights, make the apartment seem warm and cozy for when he comes home. Because Cain is coming home, I know he is. 


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Can’t be breaking and entering if I’ve got the key, didn’t even break the rock to get the key out, stupid fucking rock isn’t real. Kicked over every damn rock thinking one of them had to be fake, kind of remember Beth telling me about it once, some story about her square girlfriend and the fish. 

Fish all swimming around, just that one little light, start turning on lamps but turn them off quick. Feels weird, feels wrong, know it’s wrong but it’s her damned fault for being a stupid motherfucker and leaving a key inside a fake rock. Gonna tell her she’s a stupid motherfucker, later, gotta get this damn cat fed before it eats the fish. 

Walked for fucking ever trying to get home, too fucking stupid to know where to go, too fucking lost without my navigator -- Abel’s the navigator, telling me to leave, gotta go where Abel says because he’s the fucking navigator but got myself real fucking lost and too fucking stubborn to ask directions. 

Maybe scared I’ll ask it wrong, do it wrong, I’m so fucking wrong all the goddamn time, don’t even know how to call Abel without it being in my phone under some pretty blond’s name.

Left without my phone, didn’t mean to, didn’t want to leave but couldn’t stay -- hit Abel, again, hurt Abel, again, everything wrong, again.  

Cat fucking meowing at me, wanting food, can’t feed it the fish swimming all around in the big bubbling aquarium. Can’t stay here long ‘cause it’s wrong, only recognized the streets because Beth makes me walk the neighborhood with her, she’s gonna be so pissed when I tell her. Her damned fault for leaving a key in a fake fucking rock. 

Guess nothing worth stealing. Never been in her office, just the sitting room and exam room, feels wrong going in but I gotta feed the stupid cat. Filing cabinet, bet she’s got a file for me, not about to go fucking read it. 

Mini-fridge in her office, where she keeps her lunch, find half a sandwich and throw it to the floor for the stupid fucking cat. Cat purring so loud. 

Sit in her chair, leg on fire, walked too goddamn much trying to get home. So fucking lost without my navigator, left without my phone -- Abel telling me to leave, have to go where Abel says, he’s the fucking navigator. 

Scared Abel doesn’t want me home, so sorry I hit him but sorrier I left, scared Abel doesn’t want me home, scared it’s over, only ever said it’d be over when he made it, scared he wants it over, wants me gone, gotta go where he says, do what he says, sign papers and take pills, talk too much, limp around, be around, stay around, doing what Abel says to do.

Don’t know what to fucking do without Abel. Can’t do fucking anything without Abel, can’t even fuck Abel anymore, can’t fucking do anything anymore except the wrong thing, always doing the wrong goddamn thing. 

Put my head in my hands. Cat over there eating Beth’s half a fucking sandwich, damn cat purring so loud. Tell the cat to shut up. Cat ignores me. Cat can’t hear, pretty sure the cat can’t hear, cat’s all fucked up and skinny, half-dead and stupid, kind of like the cat even though it’s stupid. 

Wonder if Abel likes cats. Wonder if Abel will let the cat come home with me.

Wonder if Abel will let me come home. 

Fingers in hair, trying to think, phone there on the desk but I don’t fucking know Abel’s goddamn number without it being in my phone under Ethan. All those fucking messages telling me to call, telling me the number’s in my phone under Ethan, wanted to come home but couldn’t call, broke my phone, didn’t know the number, had to just go home. 

Should just go home now. Call a cab, took a cab from the shuttle port to the apartment once before, not so fucking helpless and stupid I can’t do this, can’t fucking do this without my navigator. 

Remember Abel yelling at me, telling me to leave, always said I wouldn’t leave until Abel said it was over, wonder if Abel meant it. Wonder if it’s over, if it gets to be over, think maybe I don’t want it to be over, just want to go home.

Abel yelling at me, calling me a coward -- deserved it, hit him, just wanted to run, can’t stand knowing I hurt Abel, can’t keep Abel safe anymore because I’m the only fucking reason he hurts. 

Not going to fucking cry, bang my forehead on the desk so it hurts, makes me angry, not going to fucking cry on Beth’s stupid fucking desk. 

Should go home. Bet if I say sorry Abel will let me stay. Bet if I ask he’ll let me keep the cat.

Too scared Abel will say no, tell me to leave, I’ll have to go, it’ll be over, everything over like I thought I wanted when I crashed the motorcycle going too fast on purpose. 

Cat up on the desk now, must have finished eating. Cat wandering around like maybe this is home, it’s so fucking stupid, ought to name the cat Stupid Motherfucker, be real fucking funny watching Abel try to say it. 

Don’t think about Abel, easier that way. Hands stop shaking, feel less shaky.

Pick up the phone. Hang up the phone. Pick up the cat. Put the cat on the floor. Watch the cat hop back up on the desk. 

Cat walking all over Beth’s papers, top one has my name on it, don’t want to read the papers, she’s gonna be so pissed, won’t believe me if I say I didn’t read them if the cat knocks them over. Grab the cat, it’s all skin and bones, skinny like it hurts but cat’s still purring. 

Couple of numbers written near the phone. Call the one labeled Home, listen to it ring enough to know it’s way too goddamn late to be calling. 

“...Hello?” Cautious, maybe scared, can’t fucking blame her if the number popped up on her end as Office. 

Not sure what to say. Bad idea, wrong thing to do, everything so fucking wrong because of me just all the goddamn time. 

“Hey, Beth. It’s me, uh --”

“Sacha?” Guessing it, guess she recognizes my voice, can’t be too many other assholes like me calling her at three in the goddamn morning. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

She kind of laughs some, relieved it’s me -- fucking weird as shit she’s relieved it’s me -- confused about that until she says, “The number came up wrong. Is everything all right?”

Cannot fucking believe she sounds this calm about me calling her this goddamn late. Wonder how much Abel pays her to put up with me. 

Tell her, “Number’s right. I’m in your office.”

Long pause. 

Finally, “Okay. Sacha, why are you in my office?”

“Only place I knew how to get into and needed a place to go.” Being honest, always try being honest with her, promised Abel I’d do this -- don’t fucking cry, just say shit, don’t fucking cry -- “I walked too far, I got lost.”

“Okay,” she says. Hear her whisper something, whispering to her square girlfriend about me, finally hear her call me a patient, not a client, one of her patients, guess to her square girlfriend I’m just another war vet with shit for brains. Some asshole waking them both up, some crazy loon who broke into Beth’s office and stole half a fucking sandwich to feed a shitty broken cat. 

“Sacha, does Ethan know where you are? Have you called him?”

Shit. Crying now, said I wouldn’t, gonna hang up if I don’t stop, don’t want Beth hearing it. Grit my teeth, get all the white squares lined up, clench my jaw until it hurts, get so tense my thigh shakes, stop crying like a stupid soft navigator. 

“I had a fight with Ethan. He kicked me out.”

“I won’t call him, then,” she says. “But Sacha, you can’t be in my office.”

“I know.”

“Okay,” she says, like maybe I didn’t know this was wrong. Like maybe she’s just happy I know I can’t be here, even though I am. Can’t be fucking anywhere anymore without it being wrong.

Tell her, “I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t - I don’t even know Ethan’s number, it’s just always been in my phone.” Realize, “I think I know my sister’s number. It’s all eights at the end.”

“No, that’s okay,” she says. “I’ll come pick you up. Why don’t you feed the fish for me, and I’ll see you here soon, okay?”

Say okay back even though it’s not okay, not okay I’m here and not okay I called, not okay she has  to come pick me up, better than calling the cops. Maybe she’s gonna call them anyway. Gonna have to tell her I hit Abel again, bet she’ll call the cops then. Already knows I hit Abel before, once, twice, too many fucking times waking up with Abel scared of me, only thing ever hurting Abel anymore is me.

Gonna have to tell her I broke the camera, hit Abel, Abel yelling at me to leave. Always said it’d be over when he said it was over, always thought I’d stay until he told me to go, maybe thought he’d never say it, can’t stop thinking about him yelling it at me.

Just want to go home. Want to wake up in bed, prissy navigator cuddling into me, want to wake up yesterday, want to redo the bad day, want to tell Abel I’m so fucking sorry I left, want Abel to say it’s okay because he’s a pretty liar, such a pretty fucking liar when he tells me it’s okay. 

Go feed the fish like she asked. Get the cat, make the cat sit still, cat falls asleep in my lap purring while I sit there waiting in the spot Abel sits to wait, sitting in the sitting room because it’s wrong being in her office. 

Wake up tense and shaking, wake up in the wrong room, not in bed, no Abel -- sprawled on a chair in the sitting room, Beth watching me, pulling her hand away. Think she might have been saying my name to wake me. Guess I fell asleep waiting, fell asleep like the cat, wrong room and not okay I’m here, but she’s saying it’s okay anyway.

Not even that tired, usually so fucking tired at night, remember I didn’t take my medication, remember what I’m doing there, remember why she’s there. Get to my feet, hand gripping the back of the chair, leg hurts so much I could cry, eyes feel gritty like maybe I did cry, remember crying earlier and glad she didn’t hear.   

“Is the cat yours?” she asks. She has the cat now, holding the stupid skinny thing, all that filthy, matted fur and big sapphire eyes. 

Tell her no and take the cat from her, not my cat, just a cat I found. Give her the key from my pocket, say I’m sorry without apologizing, like hearing her lie and say it’s okay. Put the cat inside my jacket, snow in her hair and on her shoulders, snow on top the car, snow falling from the sky. 

She has to help me limp, has to let me lean on her, should have brought the square girlfriend to help. Heat blasting from the vents in the car, streets all dark and quiet, her radio turned low on a jazz station. Watch her put the key back, watch her fix what I did wrong, watch her get in the car and start driving. 

“Where am I taking you?” she asks. 

Like I fucking know. Look out the window, shrug, already told her I didn’t know where else to go, what else to do, can’t call Abel if I don’t know his number, can’t call Abel when he wanted me to leave. 

Guess I should leave, can’t tell her that, her job’s making sure I stay, take all these fucking pills to try feeling like it’s worth staying, that I can do this. Don’t want to without my navigator, can’t fight without my navigator, we were the top-ranked team, the best goddamn pair, they gave my Abel another Cain, never gave me another Abel. All those pretty blond things that weren’t Abel. 

Just want Abel, want to stay with Abel, not fair to Abel, he’s the best goddamn navigator and needs the best goddamn fighter to stay with him, all he gets is me, not even a fighter anymore, just some asshole beating him around four walls and a door. 

Snow turning into wet, hitting the hot heated glass and streaking into wet along the windows, wet streaking my cheeks but maybe she won’t notice if I look out the window. 

“You can come to my house,” she says. “How’s that? You’ll get to meet Miranda finally.”

Stupid square girlfriend’s probably pissed I woke her up, woke up them both up, made Beth drive out here and pick me up, broke into her stupid office, wrong to do it, things always fucking wrong because of me.

Wish I had my phone. Bet Deimos texted me, always fucking texting me now even when I don’t text back for days. Wonder if Abel tried calling.

Rub at my face, hate that it’s wet, tell her okay even though it’s not, watch out the window until the streets aren’t familiar anymore. Don’t know where I am, besides in the car with a stupid fucking cat I stole and a doctor who gets paid to spend time with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am continuing this exactly as I left off, without taking into account any of the Starfighter comic updates that have happened since I stopped.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I call in sick to work, because I am sick. I am sick with worry and guilt, fear, so frightened because I was so certain Cain would come home but it’s morning and Cain isn’t home. 

I sit on the sofa with my face in my hands and don’t even cry because it hurts too much to try again, I cried enough already, it hurts my nose to cry. It’s only a little swollen, a little sore, more sore and swollen because I couldn’t stop crying earlier when I came home and found my own note still on the table next to Cain’s phone. 

I want to call the police, report Cain missing, beg them to go find Cain -- I am so scared something happened, that he’s been arrested, that he’s hit someone who isn’t me or Deimos, someone who doesn’t love him enough to know that Cain’s hurt, he’s hurting, it always hurts him more to hurt me than it does to be hurt -- God, I am so sick with worry I can’t think straight, can’t do anything, so full of guilt because I threw Cain out of the house and now all I want is for him to come home. 

I actually shriek when the phone rings. My phone, not Cain’s phone, my phone making noise in my hand, it startles me so much.

I don’t recognize the number. Cain’s phone is on the table, Cain doesn’t have his phone -- I answer, gasping, “Hello?”

A coworker, one of my fucking coworkers, apologizing, saying she knows I’m out sick today but can I send her the blueprints -- and I forget everything, forget what I’m doing, forget what I say before hanging up on her. I hope I didn’t say what I was thinking. I hope I didn’t say something that’ll make human resources ask me about this later. 

When my phone rings again, I answer it growling through my tears -- “Leave me alone.”

“Okay,” Cain says. And then he hangs up, it’s just a dial tone instead of his sultry-soft snarl sounding so defeated and accepting.

I hit redial immediately, heart-pounding, almost hysterical, wanting to laugh but I don’t recognize the number and Cain doesn’t have his phone, I’m looking right at Cain’s phone, I don’t know this number and, oh God, what if he doesn’t answer --

“Hello?”

It’s a woman’s voice but I don’t realize that in time, I just sob, “Don’t hang up I’m sorry,” all in one gulping breath. Then more, rambling, “Sacha, don’t hang up, I didn’t -- I didn’t --”

“Ethan?”

And it’s only then I realize it isn’t Cain, who did I call, oh my God did I just call back my coworker sobbing --

“Ethan, it’s Dr. Warren,” she says. She sounds confused, I don’t blame her, but then she asks, “Did Sacha just call you from this number?” and she doesn’t sound as confused as she should about that, given that it’s ten o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday. 

“Y-yes,” I tell her. “Or I … I thought he did.”

Because now I’m scared maybe that didn’t happen at all, I have truly become so disconnected and scared that I can’t tell memory from reality, and I have just hallucinated Cain calling me because I want it so badly. 

“I thought he was asleep,” she says. The way she says it is surprised, matter of fact, like that’s an explanation for anything, and it doesn’t even sound like something she meant to say at all because her voice changes, becomes more professional when she says, “I gave him your number. I’m glad he tried to call you. Let me go find him for you, I’ll tell him you called back and see if he wants to speak with you again.”

Find him? Go find him, like she knows where he is, like she has him there with her, and I actually rise from the sofa as my heart rises from cold, scared depths. “You have Sacha?” is all I can think to ask. 

Not that she knows where he is, but that she has him - he is there with her, he’s somewhere safe, he’s safe, he’s alive, he’s still with me even if he’s not here with me. 

There’s a strange silence. Finally she says, “If he didn’t tell you anything, then I shouldn’t say anything. I’m sorry, Ethan.”

“No, I...  We didn’t -- I hung up, on accident,” I say meekly. “Please if you would get him for me, tell him -- tell him I didn’t know it was him. I didn’t mean what I said, just now -- or, any of it, please tell him I didn’t mean it, I want him to come home, please --”

I’m crying again, crying loud and messy so it hurts my nose. 

Her voice is so soft, so comforting, so sympathetic. “I’ll tell him.”

I clutch the phone, sit back down, strain to hear anything but I only hear the soft tap of the phone being put down, I don’t hear her voice, I don’t hear his voice, I don’t even know this number, it’s not her office number.

Another soft tap, a shuffle, some static, and then breathing. Not hers, I know it’s not hers, I know the silent sound of Cain breathing into a phone and not knowing what to say. I heard it too much during all the bad days when I’d call him from work just to make sure he was still there.

“I didn’t know it was you calling,” I say. “I didn’t recognize the number.” I’ve had enough time waiting to calm down, stop crying.

“You sound like shit,” he says.

“What?” I ask, so startled, and I hear the stopped-up, mushy, wet, terrible broken-nose sobbing sound of my own swollen and sore voice. 

“Oh, God, I do sound terrible. No - no wonder my boss said not to worry about it,” I say, and I can’t stop listening to my own terrible voice.

And then I kind of laugh about it, shaky, so relieved it’s terrible, but I’m just so happy he’s safe and somewhere, anywhere, so long as he’s still here somewhere. Laugh again, because he’s safe, he’s somewhere even if it’s not with me. Laugh until I think I might cry, that it’s gonna hurt again, so I stop and only then realize Cain was chuckling along with me. 

“Who’d you think was calling to sound that pissy about it?” he asks. 

“A coworker. I’m at the house, called in sick,” I tell him. Voice more normal now, still stopped-up and swollen but less shaky, less panicked, I feel less shaky and panicked. 

“Your coworkers must really suck,” he says. 

Like he wants me to laugh again, and I have to cover my mouth to keep from sobbing. “They’re not so bad,” I say instead. Manage it, somehow, make it sound as normal.

“I don’t have my phone,” Cain says. 

Apologizing for not calling, maybe, or trying to explain why he didn’t until now, I’m not sure what he means, but I can tell he’s trying to sound normal, too. I’m past the point of trying to pretend what we have is normal, but it’s nice to pretend with him anyway.

“I have it,” I tell Cain. “I have your phone. It’s here with me. I’m at the house.”

“I’m at Beth’s house,” he says, before I can ask where he is. He doesn’t say why or how, but I guess that doesn’t matter, it just matters he’s somewhere even if it’s not here with me. 

Then neither of us knows what to say next, so it’s just breathing into the phone and waiting, thinking, wondering -- desperate and maybe a little scared, because he didn’t come home to me and I told him to leave. 

So I say it, even though I’m scared he’ll hang up, I have to say it, I have to talk about it. “Sacha? I … I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it, when I told you to leave, and I don’t -- I don’t think you’re a coward.”

I hear him snarl, maybe, or I don’t know what I hear but I know I don’t like it, I don’t like the noise he makes. I don’t like it at all, and tears sting my eyes like they do every time I think about saying such a terrible thing to Cain. How deep it hurt him, I saw it hurt him, I knew it would hurt him.

I’m going to hurt him more, but I can’t stop now. I’ve sat too long in regret, sat too long in this apartment where my angry words still echo, waited too long to Cain this. 

“It’s true, Sacha, you’re not. You’re not a coward, at all. You’re -- you’re so brave, you’re the bravest person I know. You fight so hard, I’m proud of you. I’m  _ so  _ proud of you, you fight so hard for me, baby, I know how hard you fight for me, just every single day it’s a fight for you and I’m so sorry it’s this way. You make me so happy, though, I’m so happy you’re brave enough to fight this for me, that you’re tough enough to fight this. I - I couldn’t do it, without you, I need you. I need my fighter,” I tell him.

I don’t think he’s going to say anything, at first. I think maybe he’s hung up, until I hear his breathing and know he’s still there. 

Then he says it, so soft, I have to strain to hear and I’m not even sure I hear it at all, just his soft-snarled whisper I can barely hear saying, “I need my navigator.”

I cover my mouth, I don’t want him to hear. I squeeze my eyes shut, feel the sob roll through my throat and fade. “Yeah,” is all I can manage. 

“Yeah,” he says, like my inarticulate noise was a question. His voice is louder now, more normal. “Yeah. I’m shit at directions. Good thing you always drive.”

Like he’s trying to make me laugh again, so I do. Laugh until I start sobbing, until he tells me to shut up, until he goes to ask Dr. Warren to take him home.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Abel waiting in the lobby, waiting in his fucking socks, trying to come outside in the snow wearing just some fucking socks, his boxers, a baggy sweatshirt, it’s a good thing Beth’s stopping the car at the door instead of parking in the guest spot. Abel didn’t even grab his pants, where the fuck are his pants, don’t even wait for the car to stop all the way before I’m out in the snow so Abel doesn’t get his fucking socks wet. 

Catch him right at door, in front of the door, get him off the wet cement, keep him from the snow, get him into my arms. Laughing, sounds better than he did on the phone, sounds more like he means it, sounds almost giddy, doesn’t even tell me to put him down. Only got him a few inches up, momentum swings most his weight for me, can’t hold him long so it’s a short spin. 

Ask him where the fuck his pants are, see him look down, see pink splatter across his cheeks and not just because he’s cold, laugh at him for being that stupid but I like when he gets stupid and soft. Kiss him, noses bump, hear him hiss, not so funny anymore. 

Maybe forgot I’d hit him, maybe forgot we’d even had a fight, maybe forgot how tired I am, how my leg’s on fucking fire -- Beth’s square girlfriend had to drag me into the car, told Beth on the ride over her hot piece could kick my ass in a fight. Not waking up anywhere wrong, just tired, wanted to come home, glad Abel wants me home, maybe we don’t have to remember the fight.

From behind us, Beth asking -- “Sacha, did you still want to keep the cat?”

In front of me, Abel asking, “The cat? What cat?”

Still in his fucking socks, no pants, so tell him to go inside, get the elevator, remember I can’t carry everything, can barely walk, have call him back, ask him to go get the cat. Ask him just to get the cat, take it inside, ask him to let me explain inside, tell him I’m tired, not using it as an excuse, real fucking tired, can’t believe it’s my own fucking voice saying stupid shit like,  _ please, Ethan, I just want to go home,  _ when I’m already home so why the fuck am I saying it that stupid. 

Lean my forehead into the front of the building, back to the car, know Abel’s over there whispering at Beth, know they’re fucking talking about me, hear Abel apologizing for me, thanking her for cancelling appointments. 

Just want inside, leg hurting, probably shouldn’t have bothered with keeping Abel’s stupid fucking socks dry because he has to go get the cat for me. Got stupid and giddy over my fucking navigator, trying to spin him around like we’re drunk on shore leave, can’t believe Abel forgot his fucking pants.

Cat in a plastic carrier, something the square girlfriend bought. Beth sent her to the store, sent her to get things for the cat, got her out of the house so we didn’t have to sit outside to talk alone. 

Hear Beth say goodbye, hear her say she’ll see me Saturday, no session tomorrow, her and the square girlfriend going to sit around drinking eggnog or some shit, pretty presents under a fake tree.  

Turn around, lean my ass into the wall, watch Abel juggle a plastic carrier full of something skinny that’s meowing at him.   

Alone in the elevator with Abel, leaning hard into the wall, he puts the carrier down and leans into me, lets me lean into him. 

Less giddy now, remembering the fight more, hard to walk so I got to lean hard on the walk, real fucking tired. Get inside, apartment looks the same, pictures still on the walls, pictures of me, not like the year I left, wasn’t even gone a whole day but just one long night. 

“Sacha, are we keeping the cat?” Abel asks. Confused about it, not sure why he’s holding a plastic carrier and some shopping bags. Doesn’t seem happy about it.

Guess he doesn’t want all this matted filthy fur in his pretty off-white apartment but the poor fucking stupid broken cat wouldn’t stop purring and maybe I kind of like listening to it purr. 

Not sure how to answer. Don’t want Abel mad at me again, don’t want Abel telling me to leave again. 

Limp to the sofa, barely make it, don’t want to fucking crawl but my leg’s on fucking fire, manage it by grabbing at Abel when he tries to help. Sofa feels amazing. Leg twitching, jittery, fucking twitching hard so I moan about it, whine like a little bitch at Abel that I’m so tired.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asks me, sounding sad, sounding like he knows the answer. 

Abel tugs at my boots, gets them off for me, tell him sorry, wet snow on the carpet now because I forgot to take them off at the door. Think he means it when he says it’s okay.

Abel rolls me out of my jacket, unwinds the scarf, digs my hands out to get at my gloves. Jerks at my jeans, struggling, asking me to move but I’m so heavy, so tired, my leg hurts so much.

“Socks wet,” I tell him. Mumble it, mumbling it at the sofa cushions. Tell the sofa cushions the cat’s clean now, square girlfriend bathed it, got rid of the fleas.

“Who’s Miranda?” Abel asks. “Sacha, what… what happened? Where were you all night?”

Mumble at the sofa cushions I don’t want to leave, moan and whine like a little bitch that I don’t want to leave, don’t want Abel to make me leave again, just want to stay here with Abel and sleep now, so fucking tired and my legs hurts, _ please, Ethan, I just want to sleep _ . 

Must be hours later, hours later enough that I wake up hungry, stomach cramping I’m so hungry, Beth tried to feed me but I told her I wasn’t hungry, stomach too full of knots to eat.

Hear the cat purring, cat on top my chest purring, fleece blanket over me. Heating pad around my thigh. Everything warm.

Still on the sofa, still in the apartment, I’m home, don’t know why I’m so tense and shaking, don’t know why I have to shout for Abel, make him come running in looking panicked.

Finds me sitting there with the cat, nothing wrong, can’t tell him what’s wrong when he asks, don’t know what to say -- Shit, I told him I’d explain it later and here’s later without me explaining it.

Shit, need to explain this. 

Say, “I found the cat.”

“Looks like a stray,” he agrees. “Are we keeping it?”

Everyone asking me like I’m the one who gets to decide that, like I get to decide anything, like the cat didn’t already decide it wanted to be kept when it started purring at me. 

“Guess so.”

“She seems to like you,” Abel says. “Did you name her Miranda?”

Tell him I’m not naming the cat after Beth’s square girlfriend, see him look confused even as he’s nodding and saying, “Okay. How is your leg feeling?”

Asking it nicely, trying not to seem timid, trying not to hover. Hands curling into the back of the sofa like he wants to curl them into me, smiling like he’s not sure, not exactly scared or hurt, just uncertain in a way I don’t like. 

Realizing I’m scowling, forehead tight, mouth down, looking at him like I’m angry. Stop, look somewhere else, not angry at Abel. Not angry at Abel at all. 

“Sore,” I say, being honest. Tell him I walked too much, start to explain I didn’t know where I was before realizing I did know, maybe, don’t really know. Stop explaining, rub at my face, still pretty tired. Maybe knew I couldn’t go home, maybe knew where I was going, not really sure and don’t want to think about it. 

Abel quiet for a moment, not sure I explained it very well. Didn’t tell him about the fake rock and the key, just said I got inside without saying how. Don’t think I explained it well, why I didn’t come home. 

Can’t tell Abel I was scared he wouldn’t let me, didn’t want me home. Told me to leave but didn’t mean it, can’t make him think it’s his fault. Know it’s my fault, always me being wrong.

Abel get up, says it’s okay even though it’s not, offers me lunch, smiles about it. 

Tell him I’m sorry for leaving, hitting him, sorry for yesterday. Blurt it out, he was asking me what kind of fucking chips I wanted with my sandwich, answer needed to be either plain or onion, instead he gets me moaning and whining about how sorry I am. 

Plain chips on my plate when he brings me the sandwich. Cat tries to eat the sandwich, make Abel go feed the cat before I name the damned thing sandwich since it loves them so fucking much. 

Abel goes, feeds the cat, comes back and tells me he doesn’t need to talk about the fight, if that’s okay, if I’m okay not talking about it -- asking me, if that’s okay, telling me he didn’t mean it, he knows I didn’t mean it, we’re both here and safe so what does it matter, and what do I think I want to name the cat, would I want to watch a movie?

Shit, he’s fussing at me, he’s arranging the heating pad on me, finding excuses to touch me now. He’s upset still about the fight, guess we don’t have to talk about it. Guess he probably feels bad for yelling at me, telling me to leave. Glad he didn’t mean it, but don’t want him feeling bad about it. Deserved it, deserved worse.  

Tell Abel to pick out a movie, let him pick a sad one, kiss him later when he’s all soft and cold-nosed about it. Think it’s real fucking cute until our noses bump, he hisses, not so fucking cute it hurts to kiss me.

Nose isn’t even that swollen. Looks fine. Better than a black eye, barely looks like I hit him at all. 

Get up, too fast, scare the cat off my lap, knock over the popcorn bowl, tell Abel real fucking angry, yelling it,  _ I might be the best goddamn fighter but you’re not the fucking thing I want to fight, goddammit! _

Kick the popcorn bowl, popcorn all over the carpet. Real fucking nice job acting sweet to poor stupid Abel who just wanted to know what kind of chips I wanted, just wanted to watch a movie.

Abel looking shocked, looking wide-eyed at me, fingers just barely over his lips. Lowers his hand, slow. Says my name, slow, calls me Cain so I snap,  _ It’s fucking Sacha, dumbass!  _

Stand there until my leg’s trembling, until the cat comes back and interrupts with her purring, yell at it to shut up, cat’s too fucking stupid and broken to know I’m yelling at it, just keeps purring. Meows like maybe I got food, really going to name the stupid motherfucker sandwich or maybe just stupid motherfucker still. 

Sit back down. Far end of the sofa, not touching Abel, leg sticking out wrong and jittery. Need to say I’m sorry, need to explain, want to explain.

Put my head in my hands. Don’t say anything, just sit there. Fucking cat rubbing at my ankles like I’ll pet all that unevenly cut fur, Abel tried to get the worst of the matted fur cut away while I was sleeping.

Feel Abel slide over. Feel his arm go around me and stay there. Sits there with me and doesn’t say anything, Abel’s cheek into my shoulder. 

Finally say to him, “You ruined the cat.”

“Her fur will grow back. I’ll have to wait until Friday to take her to the vet,” he says. “They’ll do a better job of it for her, this is just temporary. I read online what to do. ”

“Cat didn’t fight in the war, what the fuck’s she’s going to get done at the V.A.?”

So Abel laughs some, looks guilty about it as he pulls off my shoulder. “Veterinarian,” he says. “They’re doctors for animals.”

Out of nowhere, like the fucking potato chips, can’t stop it, have to get it out before it chokes me. “I can’t hit you again. I just can’t, Ethan. I hate it. I hate being what hurts you.”

“I know,” he says, which is better than lying to me that it’s okay. “I know, Sacha.”

Never fucking okay to hit Abel, hurt Abel, hurt him by leaving, left for that year so it makes him crazy to see me go out the door without him. Put my arm around Abel, pull him into me, careful about his nose so he doesn’t hiss. Kiss his forehead, his cheek, his throat, rake him with my teeth. 

“Okay,” I tell him, even if it’s not, so Abel pauses the movie, picks up the popcorn even when the cat tries to steal a few pieces. Cat bats one of them under the sofa without Abel seeing, good for the cat.

Finish the movie with Abel. Don’t mention the fight again, remember not to bump noses with Abel when he kisses me after dinner, remember not to bump noses with Abel when he kisses me before bed. 

That night, going to bed. Glass of water and my medicine, looking down at the pill, didn’t take it the night before. Wasn’t home to take it. Dump it in the sink and go to bed with Abel, kiss him and remember not to bump his nose. Takes longer to fall asleep, not as tired without taking the pill at night, guess that’s okay. 

Forget and bump noses with Abel when he kisses me in the morning, but don’t hear him hiss, barely looks swollen. 

Guess things aren’t that bad, feeling good about things, going to make it a good day. 

Think I can make it a good day, doesn’t have to be a bad day, think I can make it a good day. 

Abel wants to bake Christmas cookies, asks me if I’ll help, have to tell him I’m tired, leg hurts, leg hurts so much, can’t even lean into the counters to watch, so Abel spreads a spare sheet over the coffee table. 

Lay on the sofa with heating pad, listen to Abel talk about the presents under the tree, teases me about opening them tomorrow. Loves all this stupid shit, told me once Christmas was his favorite holiday. Told me all the way back on the station, before I got discharged, before everything, had to explain to me why he’d put a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of whisky inside a fucking sock for me.

Watch Abel make cookies on the coffee table even though the cat keeps trying to eat everything. Going to make it a good day even though I’m tired, leg hurts, feeling wrong, guess it’s not that bad with the blanket and the heating pad, cat purring on my chest. 

Lay there, watch Abel, eat scraps of cookie dough. Not so bad, going to make it a good day even though I’m tired, leg hurts. 

Tell Abel I’m just going to call it the cat, no point in giving it a name if it’s too stupid to know it. 

Abel looks at me funny, tells me cats are smart enough to learn their own names. 

Get up from the sofa, limping, not as bad a when I woke up. Pick up the cat and take it with me to the kitchen. 

Say, “Watch this,” and put the cat on the counter. 

Reach for the garbage disposal switch, and Abel screams. He’s shrieking at me not to, yelling,  _ No, no, no, don’t! Don’t! DON’T! _

Running over in a panic, but I already flipped the switch, already was gonna do it before he started screaming.

Horrible fucking noise, Abel’s screaming was twice as loud, but the cat just sits there, maybe a little curious about the vibration, tail twitching, too fucking stupid and broken to know when it’s loud. 

Abel slams his hand over the switch, eyes too wide, breath too fast, shaking. Looking terrified. Looking terrified of me, socks shuffling on the tile like he’s going to run if I even blink.

Just wanted to show Abel the stupid fucking cat’s broken.

Did something wrong again. Don’t know what to do. Just stand there, don’t even blink.

Not okay, don’t think I can make it a good day now.

Don’t say that. Don’t know what to say. Abel looks ready to cry, he’s starting to apologize, stammering, doesn’t know what to say either. 

Don’t know what I did wrong. Just wanted to show Abel about the cat. 

Don’t know what else to do, pick up the cat. Say I’m tired. Go to bed. 

Lay down. Let the cat go. Too cold to sit on the balcony, fuck making it a good day, always gotta be so fucking wrong.

Roll around feeling sorry for myself. Long enough Abel brings lunch, leaves it for me. Pillow over my head, under the covers, not sleepy and not tired, but fuck making it a good day. 

Fucking bad day, only ever bad days because I’m so fucking wrong just all the goddamn time.

Abel brings dinner and then stays to fuss. Asks if I’m okay, asks if my leg’s bothering me, says quietly that he’s sorry. Doesn’t say what for, just says sorry. Doesn’t say why. Doesn’t want to explain it, probably my fault even though he was the one yelling. 

Screaming at me not flip the stupid switch, flipped it anyway. Just wanted to show Abel about the cat, stupid cat’s broken, guess I like that it’s broken. Just wanted to show Abel but did something wrong.

Mumble at him. Say it’s okay.

Don’t fucking know what’s okay anymore, probably not me, never me doing the right shit, always being so goddamn wrong all the time. 

Abel stroking his fingers through my hair not saying anything, just sits there with me. Long time of that, just Abel sitting there, me being miserable, why the fuck did I want to come home so bad if I was just going to be a little shit about it?

Finally Abel has to say it, has to remind me, has to say, “Sacha, it’s Christmas Eve. The snow’s stopped. Do you want to go look around at the lights? There’s a big tree downtown near my office, they put up an ice skating rink. They’re selling hot chocolate. We could get some and watch people skate. From my office, you can see it from my desk. It’s quiet there, private, no one will be there. You can sit down, you won’t have to stand. It’ll be easy on your leg. We don’t have to stay long.”

Don’t bother telling Abel what a dumb fucking idea it is. Just tell him I’m tired. Say it like I’m sorry. 

Abel still sitting here. Wrong thing to say. Know it, know it was the wrong thing, Abel’s looking weird about it.

Then Abel gets real quiet, starts looking everywhere but at me. Tells me he spent last Christmas alone. Tells me he got drunk, drank too much, tried to call me. Tells he couldn’t leave me a message, number no longer in service. 

Tears in his eyes, but he’s still talking steady, telling me how that was the moment he knew I wasn’t around anymore, wasn’t even a voice mailbox to talk to, tells me he threw his phone, yelled off the balcony so much that the cops came knocking, spent the next day puking sick and sobbing. 

Tells me it was awful, tears in his eyes, voice quiet and rough like I’m hurting him, goddammit always fucking hurting him. Tells me we don’t have to go out, he’s sorry for asking, sounds so fucking sad. 

Never heard Abel say what he did the year I left. Never talks about it. Likes to pretend it never happened. Took all the pictures of me down, started looking sad and scared, never heard him say what he did, never talks about it.  

Abel tells me he loves me, puts his fingers through my hair, says again he’s sorry for asking. Says again he loves me. Says he’s just happy I’m here this year, kisses my hair, puts his fingers through it, tells me he loves me like he’s going to fucking cry. Has to fucking cry because some shitty ass worthless fucking asshole can’t do anything except scare him and make him cry.

Can’t fucking take me anywhere fun, Abel has to spend Christmas crying, had to spend Christmas alone thinking I was dead.

Get up, tell Abel to feed the cat, tell him he’s not driving the motorcycle in the snow, tell him to call a cab, guess we’re going on a fucking date.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I don’t know why I’ve dragged us both out here. I don’t know why I told Cain about how I spent Christmas last year, why it matters to me so much that we do something, anything, just something so I don’t have to think about how I spent Christmas last year any longer. 

“Wish I had a smoke.” Cain’s sitting next to me on the bench waiting for the cab, arms crossed because of the cold, or maybe he’s sulking.

“You quit,” I remind him.

“Which is why I don’t have one on me, dumbass.” He scowls over at me in such a way that I smile, I can’t help it, it’s just such a Cain-like thing say, and I can tell he’s trying. 

I feel like I should apologize for guilting him out here. It feels wrong to drag Cain outside when he spent all Monday night wandering the streets, when I can tell his leg really is bothering him. When he wanted to be home so badly.

I should apologize for panicking over the garbage disposal. I don’t want to think about it, though, I can’t stand to think about it. I don’t want to think about why this can’t be a good day, I just want it to be one. So many good days, surely we can manage just this one. 

So I scoot a little closer to Cain on the bench, and he puts his arm around my shoulders. The cab pulls up then. I have to help Cain get to his feet, I shouldn’t have dragged him out here, his leg is really bothering him.

I ask the cab driver to take the long way and cut through some neighborhoods so we can look at the lights. Four years ago, that Christmas, the first Christmas after Cain came to live with me, he drove me around on the back of the motorcycle to look at the lights. It’d been before he crashed the bike, it’d been before so many things.

I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking this way. I never should have dragged us out here. I’m the one who just wants to go home now.

Instead I tell the driver to cut through another neighborhood, and another, so Cain will keep his arm around me in the back of the cab as we look at the lights. I don’t even really care about the lights. I’ve seen Christmas lights before. But Cain puts his arm around him, tucks me into his side in a way that’s casual like breathing, and then relaxes.

I can feel him relax. The longer the driver just meanders around trying to earn a big tip, the more relaxed Cain gets. 

First his thigh stops shaking, and it’s only when it stops that I realize the whisper-fine shivers were happening at all. Next to smooth into calm is the tufted deep vee of his brows and the bracketed lines of his mouth, and then more of Cain -- his fingers, his elbow, knees, neck, lungs -- it’s almost terrifying to feel Cain relax because I didn’t know he was that tense, everywhere, all the time. 

I shouldn’t have dragged him out here -- but I’m glad I dragged him out here, if it makes him relax like this. 

Cain sprawls across the back of the cab like he owns it and has his arm around me like he owns me. The slow-passing lights move over his idle look of smug self-satisfaction. 

I love my cock-sure, hot-shot, rough-around-edges fighter so much that it puts such a stupid smile on my face. Cain glances down to catch it, and his smug half-sneering grin widens.  

“Getting wet for some plastic deer and a fat man again, princess?” he asks.

The cab driver is rolling slow past a house lit up with a huge display, Santa and reindeer, presents, elves tinkering, fake snow falling. It’s disgusting and wonderful. I barely glance at it. I lean up and kiss Cain, right on his sneering lips.

He kisses me back, and it’s tender like an apology, soft like a whisper, ends with a nip and his hand squeezing my crotch so that I yelp and laugh. 

We arrive downtown, and it’s packed. I tell the driver not to bother, soon as I see the first street full of parked cars and people. All kinds of people -- children bundled in huge coats, teenagers in hooded sweatshirts, women in colorful parkas and ear muffs, entirely too many people. I don’t want anyone around but Cain, so I tell the driver to take us home.

Cain doesn’t say anything, but his thigh goes from shivery to smooth as we loop around to leave. This was enough, I don’t need to ruin it with all those people. 

Without me asking the driver cuts through more neighborhoods on the way back, and Cain becomes almost smoky with satisfaction sprawled into the dark, quiet, warm interior of the slow-rolling car with me pressed up against him. 

I pay the driver double the fare as tip without thinking. It’s worth it, for how Cain hardly seems to be limping as we head inside the lobby, for how he’s all over me as soon as we’re in the elevator. 

Cain pushes me into the wall and nibbles at my throat, groans into my skin. His hands slide under my coat to possess me in wicked ways so that I start to moan and gasp. 

“Ethan,” he murmurs. “Fuck, Ethan...”

Oh, he’s speaking right into my throat and clutching at me, all over me in that way I love. I’m glad the elevator doors open when they do, but the distance down the hall seems forever. It is a forever, a small forever of tangling footsteps and jangling keys, of intertwined lips and twisting tongues, of hot, heated hands grabbing and rubbing with wicked promise. 

“Oh, God, Sacha,” I moan. It hasn’t been like this in forever, this is my new forever. We’re barely inside the door to the apartment. He’s got me against the door, pressing me into it with his hands and body. He’s so strong, I love how he can pin me like this -- lean and dark, my fighter. 

Cain’s thigh bumps and grinds into my crotch so that I go to pieces for him, whine and whimper and plead him with my kisses and eager hands. There are so many layers to dig through and discard. Coats, jackets, sweaters, gloves, scarves, we’re frantic and throwing things, one of Cain’s boots nearly hits the curious cat and that’s the last I see of her. 

I’m elbows and knees on the carpet, crawling over Cain, grabbing for his jeans and yanking him free. Cain laughs, it’s all rumble and rough so I just moan in response, throw myself at him. 

“Got a bed for this, princess,” he teases. 

“Fuck me here, fuck me now.” I don’t even know whose voice that could possibly be, certainly not mine so breathless and tight. Oh, I’m breathless and tight, so full of want and need this lean, dark fighter who grabs at me so rough and possessive to give me what I want, what I’m begging him for in that tight and breathless voice. 

I think it’ll be his hands, his mouth, our new routine to give us all those good days I ruined by being careless. I’m not going to think about that -- I’m not thinking about it -- I’m only thinking about Cain’s callused hands, his sneering mouth, my own throbbing cock and oh, oh I’m moaning nonsense at him, pleading with him, desperate and eager. 

Cain turns me, elbows and knees on carpet, his tongue slicking me open. One brief moment, that’s all I give it, just one brief moment to worry about his leg, isn’t this angle going to be bad on his leg? And then he’s inside me, fingers pressing, stretching, my mouth stretches into a cry. 

“Oh, fuck, Sacha -- yes, more, please, fuck me--” 

“Goddamn, Ethan,” he groans. He’s all over me, kissing my back. I turn my head so we can kiss but he eases my head down with the hard push of his fingers through my hair. 

He’s possessing me, controlling me, making me his because I want it, I want him so badly and he knows it. Impossible not to know it, I’m begging and pleading because I know I’m going to get it. I can feel him behind me ready, and my thighs are the ones whisper-shiver shaking in anticipation. 

Inside me now, oh, he pushes into me, I break to pieces, sob, “Sacha!” so loud that he chuckles, all rough and rumble. It’s Christmas lights passing fast over my face as that’s it, I’m done, that’s all I need to shoot into his tugging hand, into the carpet. 

I’m elbows and knees on the carpet with my forehead braced into my arms. I’m rocking with the hard rhythm of a hard cock shoved inside my eager ass since the first time in forever, since the time Cain followed me into the shower while Deimos was still here, since before one awful night ruined this for us, took this from us so Cain wouldn’t be scared to sleep.  

I remember him in the shower. His husky voice, so serious and sincere, lips moving against mine in the wet shower. Him saying it, I remember it, I think about it often. Three small words I needed to hear, and if I never hear him say them again that’s okay. I heard them the once, and I hear them now again in the pant of his breath against my ear, the way he groans my name, the way he pushes into me. 

“Goddamn, Ethan,” he says. He almost sounds angry, I love the way he snarls my name like that. “Oh, fuck, goddamn.”

I think I could go again, he’s hands and knees over me still rolling and groaning. His teeth rake my shoulder, and I moan for him, moan, “Sacha, oh, I love you! I love you!” because that’s what’s in my head, that’s all my pounding heart wants to say, that’s all I can think. 

I’m elbows and knees for him, he can fuck me all night if he wants, I can stay like this forever.

Oh, but he can’t, he’s slowing down -- I feel his thigh shaking, his bad leg going worse because of the angle. It can’t be comfortable for his leg. 

Cain breathes hard, shudders, bites at my neck and tries to go hard and fast again. He has both hands braced into the carpet, his bad leg is so jittery now that I’m starting to sober out of lust and into worry. He’s snarling curses that slip into Russian, and then he slips out of me, it’s over without finishing, this must be so hard on his leg.

I tumble into the carpet, finally let my shaking arms collapse. I feel sore all over in the best ways. Cain flops on to his back beside me and throws an arm over his face. He’s breathing so hard, his chest rising and falling with labored pants. We’re both slicked with sweat and shaking, but he’s shaking all the worse because of his leg.

“Bed?” I suggest, after a long moment of us just catching our breath. I open my eyes and lift up from the floor a little. “Sacha, do you--?”

The question dies in my throat when I look at him. I’m glad his arm is over his face, so he can’t see my face when I realize what’s happened.

Suddenly I don’t know what to say, what to do, I fear this has become terribly awkward but then the cat comes over to now that we’ve stopped. The poor skinny cat that Cain won’t name, with all that long fur gone to matted ruin that I tried my best to trim like the guide I found online said to do. 

The cat walks right up to Cain and sniffs at his hair. The cat meows a little, and Cain lowers his arm. I’ve had enough time to get control over my expression, so when he glances to me it’s less awkward. He looks at the cat and scratches the top of her head some. 

“What’re you looking at?” he asks the cat. “Fucking pervert.”

Cain rolls upright, and when I see him staggering and struggling I jump to help. He actually says, “yeah, thanks,” as I grab his arm -- like he wanted me to, even though he didn’t ask. I get him hauled upright. 

He seems much less awkward about this than I feel, so it’s all the more awkward and weird for me but that’s okay. I am okay being the awkward one, if it means Cain’s okay with this.  

The cat trails after us, her blue eyes following Cain like she’s in love with him as I help him limp down the hallway. She won’t follow us into the shower but just sits there on the bathroom floor with her tail twitching. 

Cain’s leg is still shivering and jittery -- that really was a bad angle for him, I knew it would be -- so he leans into the tile as I scrub clean. I scrub him clean, too, get a little chuckle from him when I try using the jasmine bar soap I like on his chest and arms. I kiss his wet lips, kiss his wet shoulder, want to get on my knees for him but don’t. It’s awkward enough.

“Thanks for going to look at the lights with me,” I say instead. “It was fun.”

“Whatever, princess. Hand me a towel.” Cain rolls his eyes to make it playful, he’s trying so hard. 

I smile and have to kiss him again, I can’t help it. I shouldn’t have dragged him out like that, shouldn’t have talked about Christmas last year so to make him feel guilty about it. But I guess I’m glad I said something, because we go to bed early and wake up early to another good day. 

Cain tries so hard to make it one, I can tell, his leg’s still bothering him but he doesn’t complain. He sits with me to open presents and balls up the wrapping paper to toss at the cat. We eat the cookies I made and watch dumb movies. We drink cocoa and watch the snow from the balcony, both of us sitting out there bundled up in our pajamas and coats.

It’s a good day, so I can stop thinking about the bad one I had last year, so I can enjoy having Cain here with me now.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Saturday, watching all the fish in the aquarium. Not sure what to say, don’t say anything. Thinking about fucking Abel that time, few days ago, Christmas Eve, fucking him on the floor and listening to him moan. Think maybe I’ll try fucking him again tonight, leg finally not so sore, spent enough time laying around with the heating pad.

Beth asks about the cat, asks about Christmas.

Tell her about yesterday, Abel took the cat to the doctor. Tell her how dumb it is Earth has doctors for animals, for stupid little animals, how dumb pets are. Tell her the cat would be stew in the colonies.

Say the cat’s fine, looks hilarious with all the fur shaved down, even skinnier but gonna get chunky being fed all the time. Tell her it’ll grow back into white fucking fluff. Tell her the cat looks like a navigator, pretty white fluff and big blue eyes.

Talk about the cat for the whole damn hour nearly.

Very end, almost time to go, Abel out in the sitting room waiting.

Beth asks if I named the cat yet.

Tell her what I told Abel, cat’s too stupid to know if I name it.

Beth doesn’t play fair, says, “You named Reliant, and he was just a fish. Cats are much smarter than fish.”

Hiss back, “I fucking killed Reliant, you dumb bitch.”

Glad the fucking hour’s over. Don’t wait for her to say it’s over, stand up and leave. Said enough, talked the whole time. Leaving. Go to the door, her behind me saying there’s still five minutes, fuck that, leaving.

Abel holding his helmet, looking surprised to see me, surprised at the way I slam the door open. Takes fucking talent to slam doors open, less to slam them closed -- slam the door on Beth behind me saying there’s still five minutes. Fuck her, fuck that room, fuck that aquarium, fucking killed Reliant so why the hell does everyone keep asking me if I want to keep the cat, not my fucking cat.

Tell Abel we’re getting rid of the cat.

Don’t like the way it comes out, the way Abel just sits there looking shocked, the way Beth gets the door open behind me and says there’s still five minutes like I’m the one who can’t fucking hear.

Go outside. Fast, spent enough time laying around with the heating pad. Look for the motorcycle, don’t see it, go around the building to find it.

Yesterday, bad day, Abel took the cat to the doctor, asked I wanted to go, said I didn’t, said I was going to nap, said I was tired, meant it, that was fine. Woke up too early, can’t sleep great anymore, thought it was fine, let Abel take the cat, I’d take a nap.

Got wrong while Abel wasn’t there, fucked it up, had a bad day, woke up in the wrong fucking place -- laundry room, in the basement, should have told Beth about that instead of the cat.

Don’t want to talk about waking up, Abel calling, had my phone at least. Woke up answer it, weird as shit way to wake up, phone in my hand and my voice growling, _What?_ and Abel in my ear sounding so normal, saying _hey, Sacha_ like it wasn’t a big deal, asking if I’d gone for a walk, not waiting for an answer, saying he was home with the cat, not a big deal, going for out for walks all the time without Abel now, no reason for him to sound sad and scared.

Couldn’t tell Abel I was lost. In some laundromat, don’t know where I am, couldn’t say that. Just said okay, heart-pounding, woke up growling but it wasn’t me, not mad, not angry, need my navigator because I’m lost but can’t tell Abel that. Just had to say okay and leave, realize I was in the basement, go into the stairwell, hide, sit where I don’t think anyone can find me, try to calm down, woke up wrong, only go home to Abel when it’s okay.

Should have talked about that instead of the cat.

Should have talked about feeling scared like that, feeling lost, waking up wrong. Should have said I was tossing my pills instead of taking them, should have told Abel I was lost, promised Abel I’d do this, been giving Abel good days instead, maybe he’ll keep smiling.

Been smiling all week, let him do all the stupid Christmas shit to make him happy, like seeing Abel happy. Could have talked about that instead of the cat.

Thought maybe I could just make the days good for him, make them all good days like I did at Christmas, felt shitty but made it a good day for Abel anyway.

Sounded so normal when he called, came home to find me gone and thought it was okay. Smiling at me, been smiling more than looking scared. Can’t hurt Abel again, hate being the thing that hurts Abel. Came home to find me gone and thought it was okay, just want things okay, so sick of being wrong all the time.

Should have talked about that instead of the cat.

Get on the motorcycle.

Wait for Abel.

See Beth coming around the building after me.

“Five minutes,” she says. “Sacha, there’s five minutes left.”

“You wasted them being a nosy cunt,” I tell her. “Time’s up. I'm leaving.”

Gets closer and stands there looking at me on the bike. “You owe me five minutes. I’ll take it in overtime if I have to.”

Where the fuck is Abel, can’t leave without Abel. Never promised I’d fucking say anything, just promised I’d go, signed all those papers and promised I’d do this, here I am fucking doing this and fuck her for the five minutes when we sat around talking for hours on Tuesday in her stupid living room, another fucking aquarium, made the square girlfriend leave so we could be alone, told her all about the fight and hitting Abel and him yelling at me to leave, having to use my sleeve because it’s just her living room, no box of tissues on the table even though there’s a huge fucking aquarium, fuck her for wanting five more minutes when I gave her triple overtime already on the wrong fucking day.

Tense and shaking. Grip the motorcycle. Where the fuck is Abel?

“You’re fired,” I tell her. "Fuck off."

“You don’t pay me, he does,” she snaps back. “And who the fuck else do you think Ethan is going to find to put up with you besides me?”

Don’t say anything, just glare at her. Hate her. Hate her so fucking much.

Glares back at me, brushes hair behind her ear. “Sacha, are you going to stop being a stupid motherfucker and come back inside for the last five minutes, or do I need to call Miranda to come kick your ass for me?”

Ask her, “Is that a threat?” in a low, throaty snarl. Get off the bike.

Lifts her head to keep looking at me. Taller than her. Loom over her.

Crosses her arms, stubborn bitch doesn’t know when to quit. “Does it need to be?” she asks.

Voice quiet, realize she’s serious, realize we’re not really talking about some square girlfriend coming over here to toss me on my ass, realize my hands are fisted in the pockets of my jacket, tense and shaking.

Her looking up at me, back too straight, shoulders too square. Tense.

Wonder if she thinks I might hit her.

Don’t know if she thinks I might hit her.

Suddenly don’t know if she really fucking thinks I might hit her, like I’ve hit Abel -- she knows I’ve hit Abel, she’s seen him bruised, she thinks I might hit her.

Stomach cramping like I’m hungry, sweat on my neck even though it’s cold, tense and shaking, wouldn’t hit her but don’t know if she thinks I might, suddenly don’t know if she thinks I might. Wonder if she’s scared of me, think of Abel always looking scared, Abel with his arms up, Abel bruised, Abel’s shirt in my fist, Reliant’s bowl on the floor, not the first and not the last, keeps fucking happening.  

Don’t say anything. Not sure I can.

Tense and shaking, force myself to move.

Walk around her, around the building.

Go back inside.

Abel sitting there holding his helmet, eyes following me without saying a word, looks too shocked even to breathe.

Walk past him, into the exam room, aquarium bubbling, all the lamps turned into the walls.

Sit on the loveseat.

Beth comes inside. Closes the door. Sits in the chair.

Looks calm as always, always calm, looks at her watch. “Time starts now,” she says.

Know she’s going to ask it. Dumb fucking bitch asks the stupidest fucking questions sometimes, chased me down and dragged me back here to ask it.

“Are you worried something’s going to happen to the cat, like what happened with Reliant?”

Tense and shaking, sweaty, stomach hurts, hate her so fucking much for asking all the stupidest fucking questions.

Say, “Cat’s deaf, you know. Stupid motherfucker can’t fucking hear anything.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she says. “I was asking about Reliant.”

Tense and shaking, sweaty, stomach hurting all the harder, wonder why the air seems thick, like underwater, fucking aquarium, can’t fucking breathe.

Just a stupid fucking fish, Reliant was just a stupid fish, swam around in his bowl fast and flashy, liked to watch him, never had a pet before and everyone keeps asking me if I’m going to keep the cat when I’m the reason I don’t have a fish anymore, never had a pet before and never had anything like Abel before, killed my fish and get real fucking scared sometimes thinking about that, never had a pet before, never had anyone I love like I love Abel before, don’t have a pet anymore but still have Abel, so fucking scared I’ll wake up without him and it’ll be my fault, I killed Reliant.  

Realize I’m saying this shit, my dumb fucking voice, my hands tense and shaking, everything tense and shaking, my voice tense and shaking, so fucking scared sometimes I’m going to wake up with Abel on the floor, tell her about waking up all wrong, couldn’t tell Abel, always waking up wrong, fire and blood, mission’s fucked, only mission I got anymore is to keep Abel safe, I’m the only thing making Abel unsafe, tried to leave to keep Abel safe, trying to make Abel smile, making good days, wish sometimes I could leave again, know I can’t, won’t, don’t know why I’m using the whole fucking five minutes when I hate this bitch, want to go home, want Abel so I can leave.

So fucking tense and shaky, really can’t fucking breathe, don’t feel well, Beth’s trying to say it’s okay, the five minutes are up, starting to sound worried, I can’t fucking breathe.

Everything wrong, only had five minutes to go, could have kept silent, didn’t have to say anything, never had to say anything, only promised Abel I’d go, all that time ago, signing the papers, doing what my navigator said, can't leave without Abel.

Doing what my navigator says now, Abel sitting there telling me to breathe. Telling me it’s okay, probably lying, like when he lies, like hearing his soft, stupid lies.

Don’t know when Abel got there, glad he’s there, got to listen to Abel, do what Abel says, he’s the navigator.

Abel telling me to breathe, rubbing my back. Lean into him. Tense and shaking, do what he says, listen to my fucking navigator, breathe.

Less awful, less wrong, still tense and shaking but not so wrong, more okay. Say to Abel okay, try lying to Abel, Abel always lying to me, like hearing him say it’s okay.

Lying now, saying, “It’s okay, Sacha. Just breathe, you’ll be okay. You’re okay.”

Don’t want to look at her, wicker chair pulled around close.

Ask if I can go. Ask it just that way, “Can I go?” and listen to my wrong fucking voice say it. Too hoarse, too choked, eyes gritty.

She says I can go, says it just that way, doesn’t say anything else. Don’t say anything to her, already said too much. Go home with Abel, tell him it’s okay.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

Dr. Warren calls me Monday during my lunch break -- or her lunch break, judging by the blocky sound of her chewing while she talks. 

“Hi, Ethan, this is Dr. Warren. I’m sorry to bother you. Do you have a moment?”

She has a pleasant voice, I realize, one of those smooth phone voices. “Um, yes. Of course.”

I am terrified she is going to tell me she’s quitting.

Instead she says, “I know I said my office was closed this week, but I’d like to do Wednesday’s session with Sacha as scheduled, if that’s all right. Unless you already made plans for New Year’s Eve.”

Last year I sat on the balcony to watch the fireworks over the lake. I remember sitting on the balcony with a glass of whisky and a cigarette, because I wanted the balcony to smell like smoke as I sat there watching the fireworks over the lake, the year I spent without Cain. 

I sat there watching the  _ fireworks _ .

I almost drop the phone. I feel as if I have been punched. I cannot believe I forgot.

“Ethan?” she asks. 

“Can’t,” I say. I have to clear my throat. “We have plans. We - we’re going out of town.”

I know as soon as I say it that we won’t, we can’t, I have no idea where I would go, what excuse I could give. I can’t tell Cain we need to leave because our apartment overlooks the lake, where they do the fireworks. All those pretty bursting lights and loud rapports for the oohing and aahing crowds, it’s something that’s going to terrorize Cain but I can’t tell him that. I couldn’t even explain about the garbage disposal. 

“Oh, I see,” Dr. Warren says. 

It’s the kind of silence where we both want to say something but can’t. 

She breaks it first and sounds too smooth, too unruffled. “How about tomorrow? I could see him at …” a slight pause before she asks, “Would five-thirty work?”

“Well, yes, I - I suppose I could leave a little early to get him there on time. Let me text Sacha and get back to you,” I say, because it feels too weird to just schedule Cain with her like this without at least asking, and I suddenly wonder why she called me and not him in the first place, and then I just have to ask -- “Is - is everything okay? Is Sacha okay?”

“Yes,” she replies, so smooth and so unruffled that I know she’s lying. She has to be lying, and I wonder what Cain told her. 

It eats me up inside, becomes a strangled, squirming thing in my belly. “Oh,” I breathe. “Oh, um. Okay. Well, I’ll -- I’ll call you back.”

“I have a client coming in at one,” she says. “But before then I’ll be here at my desk.” Eating her lunch, like I’m at my desk eating lunch, and I hear the faint sound of her chewing. 

I hang up and then stare my phone. I check my messages and realize I don’t have one back from Cain. I texted him like I always do to tell him I arrived at work on time. I added that the receptionist is wearing an ugly new sweater she says her boyfriend bought her, and then I sent him a picture of it with her permission. We used to go to the movies together, as friends. She knows about the papers we signed -- everyone at my office learned about that -- it used to hurt when she’d wink and tease me about being too busy, when I’d find excuses to turn her down right after Cain came back. Now she doesn’t ask and that hurts too sometimes.

I turn my phone screen off and on, as if that will make a message from Cain appear. Cain’s been so good about texting back. I find it strange he hasn’t. I’m not sure if I should be worried, sometimes it takes him a few hours to check his phone and get back to me, but I usually have a text from him by lunch. He knows I like to check my phone at work and see a text from him, even if it’s just gibberish or a single letter. 

I sit there at my desk fiddling with my phone before deciding to call. I’m not sure he slept well last night, I sort of remember waking up with him sliding back into bed, but I almost immediately fell back asleep so maybe I’m jumping at shadows. We’ve been having good days, just like before the fight, and I smile even now thinking that we can have all these good days finally. 

His phone rings for a bit, and then I hear the automated voice asking me to leave a message. Cain’s mailbox used to have his voice, his snarled recording of,  _ just call back or fuck off _ , so I actually have to pull my phone away to check the number. I gave Cain this phone -- this phone number -- when he first came back, since his old one had gone out of service. 

I realize I haven’t had to leave Cain a message since he came back. When he left the other night, and left without his phone, I hung up as soon as I heard it bouncing over the coffee table. 

I hear the beep to leave a message and then suddenly can’t. I hang up. My hands are shaking. I toss my phone onto my desk like it’s bit me and just sit there, numb.

Eventually I manage to unclench my jaw around panic, breathe out slow for being silly, try to laugh it off. There are a million reasons why Cain didn’t hear his phone to answer. He doesn’t always keep it near him when he’s home. He always has it on vibrate, he never sets it to ring. 

I pick back up my phone and call Cain again, feeling calmer. I let it ring to voicemail, hang up, and then call back. I hope he isn’t taking a nap. I should just send him this as a text message, wait for a few hours. 

I sit there trying to call Cain for the next fifteen minutes, continuously calling, hanging up when I hear the automated turnover to voicemail, and then immediately calling back. 

My hands start shaking again, even though I still tell myself there are a million reasons why Cain can’t hear his phone to answer and none of them are bad. Everything is okay. Cain was fine this morning when I left. He’s been having good days. He takes his medicine, he goes to therapy -- he’s done everything I’ve asked him to do, and he’s fought so hard, and now we have good days so I keep calling. I keep calling. 

Thirty minutes of calling, and I’ve started to cry. I put my phone down and scoot my chair toward the door without turning around. I fumble a hand behind my back to get the door closed, and only after I hear it click do I let myself sob out a little of the panic. I curl over my phone and whine, run my feet in place to shake out the hysterics, I know I can’t cry at my desk, it’s the middle of the workday and I have a meeting in an hour, but I do it anyway. 

I feel so much calmer afterward that it’s silly again, there are a million reasons why Cain isn’t answering his phone. I wipe my eyes, blow my nose, get up from my chair and move around the room a little. I try laughing, I try smiling. I slap at my cheeks and sniffle. 

Only once I’m certain do I open the door to my office. I step out into the hall and act like I have a reason to walk past the other offices and desks. I decide to go to the bathroom and am so relieved to see a very normal looking man in the mirror. He has on a nice white dress shirt with thin blue stripes, his hair is nicely combed, the man in the mirror doesn’t look like someone who is panicked and terrified. He looks very normal. 

I leave the bathroom and walk back to my desk. I very calmly text Cain to please call me. I can’t call back and leave a message -- I might scream if I have to leave a message -- but I text him to call me, please, soon as he gets this --  _ please call me asap it’s important _ is exactly what I send him. 

And then immediately add,  _ Everything’s okay I’m not hurt or anything just please call I need to hear your voice _ .

I set my phone where I can see the screen and then try to finish my project plan before the meeting so I don’t make a fool of myself in front of everyone. I type a little, manage to click some things, type a little more and then look at my phone. 

I already took lunch, but there’s maybe enough time before my meeting to drive home. I could just run upstairs really quick to check on Cain. I’d need an excuse, to not hurt his feelings. I could say I forgot something important for the meeting. 

I type a little more and paste some diagrams into place. I type a little more and glance at my phone. What if Cain was just out on the balcony, and now he’s inside?

I decide to call again, thinking maybe he’ll hear it this time, and then start to cry again when I get the automated recording. 

I don’t know what else to do, so I save my work and open a new email. I send what I have to my boss and then immediately go into her office -- still crying, this is the most awful day now but hopefully I’ll go home and find out I’ve just been really silly again, screaming like when Cain tried to use the garbage disposal. 

I’m so embarrassed, but I tell her there’s an emergency and I have to leave. It’s sort of the truth -- I’m scared it’s the truth. She’s really nice about it. How can she not be, when such a nice looking young man is standing there in her office trying not to sob as he says, _ I’m so sorry but I have to go home right now, there’s been -- I just -- I’m sorry but I need to leave. _

And then I’m outside, I think I may have run from the elevator. I’m running across the parking lot. I nearly get hit by a delivery truck and hear the driver honk, but I run to where my motorcycle is waiting. I left my helmet in my office, but I don’t go back for it.

Millions of reasons why Cain won’t answer the phone. 

I do what I never do, I do all the bad things you’re not supposed to do. I split lanes between cars and lean fast into turns. I open the throttle through yellow lights and one red, it was definitely red, I’m going to get pulled over and will have to fight the cop to get away. I skid into my spot and bolt into the building. 

I don’t take the elevator, I take the stairs. I fly up them, faster and faster even as my legs and lungs are burning. I feel queasy and sick by the time I reach my floor -- our floor -- this is our apartment, mine and Cain’s, he’s going to be on the other side of the door when I walk in. 

I have to stop in the stairwell, on the landing, breathing as fast as Cain was at therapy, shaking as bad as Cain was at therapy, sweaty like Cain was at therapy -- what did he tell the doctor to make her call, why isn’t he answering his phone --

I stagger into the hallway and fall against the door. I have my keys in my hand, but I can’t get the key in the lock right away. I stab everything around the keyhole because my hand is shaking so hard, I’m sobbing even though I can’t breathe because I just ran up all the stairs --

I get inside the apartment, and there he is. Cain’s right there. He’s right outside on the balcony, I can see him sitting in his chair, I can see his dark hair and leather jacket, he even put on his scarf since it’s cold, I can’t see his face but of course it’s Cain. He’s right there, he’s here, he’s here with me in our home.

I just fall to the floor and start laughing. Great, huge, heaving sobs of laughter. Cain’s right outside on the balcony, and I pull my phone out to dial his number from the entry floor. I can’t see him on the balcony with the sofa in the way now, but I do hear Cain’s phone bouncing over the table.

Millions of reasons, but I only need the one.

I laugh and sob and shake until I have to roll to my side, heave like I’m going to puke but thank God I don’t. I have to get a hold of myself before Cain comes inside and finds me. 

My hands are still shaking as I rub my face, but I’m calming down. I can be calm now, Cain’s right here. I get to my feet. This is going to be so embarrassing when I go back to the office. I’ll need to think of what to say. 

The cat has realized I’m home, she’s come walking in from the hallway to meow at me. She comes in almost a run to meow at me, it’s kind of cute how much the cat meows now that I know she can’t hear anything. The vet explained it’s common for white cats to be deaf, but I still think it’s so strange. At least now I understand what Cain meant trying to use the garbage disposal, and I’m even sorrier than ever for having panicked about it. 

I’m sorry I panicked now about Cain not answering his phone. I don’t think he’s seen me yet, so I could try to just leave and pretend this never happened. 

Except the cat goes to the balcony and meows through the glass at Cain, rubs her skinny ribs into the glass and meows like she’s yelling at him to come back inside. Her big bright blue eyes look at the back of Cain’s head as she meows yet again, even louder, she’s so loud since she can’t hear herself. 

She butts into the glass, and there’s something about the gesture that looks like maybe she’s come out here to do this before. She loves Cain, it’s a bit ridiculous how much she likes to follow him around everywhere and purr at him, but he won’t even name her. She wants Cain to come inside, and she’s being loud about it as she meows through the glass at him. 

Slow, icy hands take hold of my heart.

I move across the room as if in a dream and slide open the balcony door without knocking, because Cain is limp in his chair now I realize. Eyes closed, I see that as I get closer, limp in his chair but eyes closed -- he’s asleep, so the icy fingers ease their grip some. I can breathe.

There’s an almost-empty whisky bottle and a glass beside him on the table, and I’m not sure if I’m relieved or worried to see it. The cat runs through my ankles and jumps up into Cain’s lap. He doesn’t wake, doesn’t move, he must be passed out drunk even though it’s not even two o’clock and I haven’t seen Cain blackout drunk in years.

He would sometimes, before he left, those used to be some of the bad days -- before the crash, after the crash, he’d sit out here to smoke and drink by himself all day. But he hasn’t done that in so long, even when Deimos was here and he started going back out on to the balcony at all, he wouldn’t drink enough to actually pass out.  

Even in that moment I’m reluctant to step out on to the balcony without an invitation. I gave this space to Cain, we never said anything to each other about it but it’s always been understood that I don’t go on to the balcony unless Cain says it’s okay. Even Christmas when we came out to watch the snow together, he had to invite me and I had to ask twice if it was okay.

Yet I have the door slid open, the cat is purring so loudly in Cain’s lap, it’s so cold out here -- how long as Cain been out here? It’s so cold, it’s supposed to snow later and the sky is a tumbling grey haze. 

“Sacha? Sacha,” I call. Then louder, “Sacha!” but that doesn’t work, so I have to take the few small steps I need to reach his chair from the sliding door. 

I try to be gentle as I shake him, I don’t want to know what might happen if I startle Cain awake. 

“Sacha? Baby, wake up -- Sacha?” because now I’m worried, so worried, how much did he drink? How long ago? How long has he been here? He’s so cold, oh, his skin is like ice. 

Tears fill my eyes as I brush at Cain’s hair and cup his cold cheek. His pulse feels okay, his breathing is okay, I swallow a sob and shake him as hard as I dare, as violently as I dare and say, “Sacha! Wake up! Wake up, now!”

Clapping does it, I clap loud right in front of his face and he jerks. I jerk, too -- I jump back at the same time because he takes a swing at me. I was expecting it and he’s so clumsy-drunk he can’t aim, so I’m up and out of the way easily enough. 

The cat scurries off his lap with a loud startled, “Mew!” that would be cute if it wasn’t happening at that moment. 

Cain lurches up from the chair, and I follow the cat to the sliding door. I stumble over my feet as I retreat saying, “Sacha -- Sacha, baby, are you awake now, are you--?”

“S’Abel?” Cain growls, all teeth and whisky, he is so drunk and --

It’s not me, I’m not the Abel he’s looking for, oh, God, I see that plain enough even though his snarl is incoherent, all drunk snarling, my name’s tangled in there but I don’t know what he’s asking or what he’s saying -- just that I’m not the Abel he’s looking for. 

I can be calm. I can be calm, Cain’s okay, he drank too much but he’s okay, he’s awake now. I was so scared there for a moment, I don’t want to think about scared I was, and then I’m even more scared as Cain lurches toward me and slams a hand into the glass to catch his balance. 

I’m scared the glass might break. I should have closed the sliding door between us, gotten a door between us, as Cain gets through the open part of the glass to find me. 

No, I can be calm, this is okay. He was so cold when I touched him, terrifyingly cold, so it’s good he come inside. I just need to get him inside, I’ll make him drink water, maybe try to get food in him to soak up the whisky. It’s good I came home from work, he could have froze to death on the balcony, I don’t want to think about how scared I was seeing him limp like that.

I back up toward the sofa and say, “Sacha, baby, wake up -- okay? I need you to wake up,” in the calmest voice I can manage. 

Cain follows me, or tries to, but now there isn’t a chair or railing or a glass wall for him to hold so he just goes sprawling. Too drunk, falling down, pass-out drunk and he isn’t even really supposed to drink with his medication. 

I want to cry again, but I don’t. I stay calm. I can be calm, I can do this. I get around Cain and slide the balcony closed. I jump over his hand when he grabs for me and put the sofa between us when he figures out how to get back to his feet. 

“Where’s Abel?” His growl is more coherent this time, or I’m better at understanding it. He grabs at the back of the sofa so I move around to the other corner. I don’t have to be fast when he’s this slow. 

“Baby, I’m Abel,” I plead at him. “I’m Abel, okay? I need you to remember that. I need you to remember I’m Abel.”

“S’fucking lying,” he rages. “You hurt Abel, where’s Abel?”

It’s such an awful, slow circle of me just walking around the sofa and poor, drunk Cain following me. The cat decides to come back and hops up on the table to watch, but she can’t hear us and doesn’t understand it’s not a good time to be purring so sweetly. 

Finally I manage to weave in close and shove Cain, hard as I dare, so he sprawls into the sofa. I jump on top of him and catch his hands before he can hit me. He’s slow and drunk, so it’s easy to get Cain pinned into the sofa so he can’t hurt me, can’t hurt himself. 

Cain cusses at me as he struggles, but I force his hands into the cushions above his head. 

“Cain!” I have to shout above his furious curses. “Cain, I’m Abel! Listen to me -- I’m Abel!”

He jerks wildly against me, snarling and trying to bite, I’m suddenly terrified that he’s not drunk enough for this to work at all. Deimos is smaller than Cain, why did I never think to ask him? If Cain wasn’t so drunk I never would have tried this, but why did I never think to ask Deimos how he can take Cain down when he’s so much smaller?

Because Cain would never want me doing this, Deimos would never want me doing this, and I know why when he manages to roll us both off the sofa with a furious snarl. Cain’s slow and drunk, but he is so much stronger than me. He’s a fighter, he’s my fighter, and now he’s fighting me just as hard as I’m trying to fight him. 

“Cain, Cain -- !” I’m panicked, because he’s on top of me when we hit the floor together, but he keeps rolling, rolls off me and into the legs of the coffee table. The cat runs away again. She might not be able to hear, but Cain hitting the table knocks it enough that she bolts. 

I hear Cain groan. It’s a pained, woozy sound and not something angry. He stops snarling, stops moving almost except for the harsh pant of his breath and his jittery thigh muscles. He groans again and flops on to his back with his eyes drooped closed.  

I slowly push to an elbow. “Sacha?”

He moans in response. He looks pale, unwell, sweaty and shaky. I crawl closer and brush my fingers over his hair, his cheek. He’s still cold, his skin is so white and clammy. 

“Sacha?” It chokes me, comes out more as a sob. “Sacha, baby, I’m so sorry.” I think I’ve hurt him, I think while we were struggling I may have hit his thigh with my knee. I think he landed on me wrong, I don’t know what I was thinking trying to tackle him like that.  

I stroke his face and whisper his name for so long, I don’t even know how I spend on the floor beside Cain doing that. The cat comes back. She comes close and starts to purr. She settles herself down next to Cain’s limp hand like he might pet her, and she stays there purring while I pull out my phone. 


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Medical, machines beeping, sterile smell -- mission’s fucked, Abel screaming, smoke and blood, choking, waking up wrong in medical and needing to find Abel, where’s Abel, something’s wrong, everyone keeping me from Abel, need Abel, screaming for Abel, need Abel, find only darkness. Wake up again, still wrong, all wrong, wrong room, wrong place, wrong name, too much wrong to be awake and can’t, need Abel, can’t find Abel, please where’s Abel -- just can’t, too much wrong, try to explain and can’t, don’t understand, too wrong, help, everything wrong, all wrong, wrong. Wake up wrong, keep waking up, waking up, wrong, help, Abel, please, wake up, not Abel, help -- so wrong, all wrong.

Wake up, think I’m awake, think I’m really awake, waking up somewhere wrong but waking up. White walls. White ceiling. Abel asleep, see him slouched asleep. All wrong, but I’m awake, not awake long, just see white and Abel sleeping, don’t stay awake long.

Wake up again, really wake up -- please be awake this time -- wake up with everything white, sterile smell, machines and tubes, beeping, start panicking but Abel’s there, awake, see him sitting up as I wake up.

“Sacha!” he gasps. Circles under his eyes so he looks bruised, voice all cut to shreds, grabbing at my hand so I can’t rip out the tube in my arm. 

Really awake -- please be awake this time -- think I’m awake and there’s Abel getting at me, grabbing my hands. Think I’m really awake this time.

“Sacha, Sacha it’s okay. You’re okay, baby, just relax --” He’s pushing at my chest, insistent but gentle, I’m tense and shaking, trying to get out of the bed, his eyes are wide with fear I won’t listen. Maybe that I can’t listen, makes me wonder about when I woke up before, everything wrong and hazy.  

More wrong as I try to think where I am, what’s happened, dark circles under Abel’s eyes so he looks bruised. Can’t stop staring at him.

“I’m okay,” he says. “Just sit back, please, you can relax. You’re in the hospital but you’re okay, Sacha. Everything’s fine, but I need you to stay calm, okay? Sacha?”

Ease against the bed. Abel fiddles at the switches, moves the bed more upright for me and then takes my hands. Gathers both mine into both of his. Holds them tight like he’s scared I’m going to start yanking on tubes and wires. . 

Remember crashing the bike, know I’m not here because of the crash, know that was over two years ago, just thinking about waking up in the hospital then and waking up in a hospital now. Leg’s sore but fine, not broke, other leg fine too, arms okay, breathing okay, head okay -- don’t feel sick, don’t feel like I should be here, maybe feeling weird and sore and strange. 

Okay but not okay, everything wrong but Abel’s saying it’s okay. 

Saying it again, saying, “It’s okay, Sacha. Just relax, breathe, you’re okay.”

Still tense and shaky, get real tense and shaky realizing I don’t know why I’m here. Trying to remember. Remember Christmas. Remember day after. Day after that, remember Sunday, too, remember Monday, maybe. 

“Sacha.” Runs his thumb over my knuckles to get my attention. “Baby, you’re okay, you’re in the hospital. You --” Tears, he has to blink tears. “You’re okay, just stay calm for me, okay? Stay calm baby, please, you’re okay.” Smiles, Abel tries to smile for me.

Just stare at him. Don’t know what to do, say, think, can’t -- can’t, just can’t, so don’t, don’t do anything.

Mouth twitches, scar jumping as he tries to smile and not cry. 

Asks real slow, “Sacha -- are you awake?” like I might not be, even though I’m staring right at him. Asks it like he’s scared I’m not, even though I’m staring right at him.

Say, “Yeah.” Whisper it, ragged, raw -- hurts. Think I might have been yelling, feels like I’ve been yelling. 

A little tremble goes over Abel, but he smiles again. “Hi,” he says.  “Hi, baby, oh hey -- Sacha, hi,” he stammers, like we weren’t just talking. Lets go of my hand enough to wipe under his eye, takes my hand again. Holds it, holding both my hands. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Do you want -- here, I have some ice. Do you want ice?” He half-turns and grabs a cup. “Oh, it’s melted… Do you want water?”

Nod, take the cup from him. Drink the melted ice, hurts to swallow. Give him back the cup. 

Glad when Abel takes my hands again, sits there holding them. He tries to smile for me, manages it. Remember how much he was smiling after Christmas, wonder what I did wrong, look around at all the white. 

“Sacha? Do you remember…?”

Sees I don’t, know he sees it when I look at him. Don’t need to shake my head but do it anyway. His tongue runs over his lips, he pulls his lower lip under his teeth. Squeezes my hands. 

“Monday I came home to find you passed out on the balcony,” he says. “You drank so much, baby, you know you’re not supposed to drink that much with your medicine. If I hadn’t come home --” He doesn’t say it, doesn’t want to say it, probably scared just thinking it, and the bottom drops out of everything because I know what’s wrong. It’s me, I’m wrong, always me wrong. 

Guess I remember Monday. Abel went to work. Felt tired, couldn’t sleep Sunday night, remember not sleeping much Saturday either, remember talking to Beth and hating it, hating her. Remember Monday now, remember going onto the balcony with the bottle and glass. 

Know Abel’s going to ask it. 

Know he wants to ask, think he might, see him chewing the question around his lips. See the worry eating him, those dark circles, remember crashing the bike going too fast and know what he’s going to ask. 

“Sacha, did -- Sacha, did you --?”

“No.” Rough and raw still, hurts, remember waking up in medical after the mission got fucked screaming for Abel and suddenly don’t think that was after the mission. Force the words out so Abel doesn’t have to ask, be fucking honest though it hurts. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember.”

“Okay,” he breathes. Tears again, though he smiles. “Okay, good. Good, I’m glad, I’m sorry, I’m sorry --”

Abel starts himself crying with it, clutches at my hands and bows his head. Sets his forehead into the bed beside me, all that blond fluff against my arm, sobs, “Okay, good, good,” even though honest was me saying I might have done it on purpose like with the bike, honest was me saying I don’t remember but I might have, seems like a thing I could have done, don’t think I did but don’t know. 

Takes Abel a long time to say anything else, even after he stops crying. Think he might be asleep except he’s clutching my hands still. Just lays there bent over the bed in a way that’s awkward, holding my hands, face pressed into the blankets. 

Close my eyes, tired. Don’t know what else to do. 

Hear Abel whisper, “I should tell them you’re awake enough to talk now.”

Doesn’t move, Abel just stays there holding my hands, bent over the bed. Turns his head, all that blond fluff against my arm. Abel sits up, rubs at his face, dark circles like he’s been hit, I can see him struggle to pull himself together and it’s amy fucking fault. 

“Sacha, are you awake?” he asks, even though I’m staring right the fuck at him.

Want to snap at him for it. Want to ask about waking up wrong, got a lot of questions, just stare at Abel. Feel numb, weird, not okay, woke up wrong before but really awake now, forgot Abel asked --

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Okay, good,” he says. Smiles so fucking fragile I don’t know what to do. Think I’m supposed to smile back. Want to. Can’t.

Feel numb, weird, kind of wrong -- awake and with Abel, better, think I remember a lot of wrong and not with Abel.

Abel touches at my hair, puts his fingers through it. “Oh, baby, you’re still so out of it,” he murmurs. “They had to restrain you, sedate you, they wouldn’t let me in to see you for so long… Do you remember being awake yesterday any?”

Slowly have to shake my head but then not sure, nod instead. “You were asleep.”

“Asleep?” Abel frowns for a moment and then looks sad, quiet, bites at his lip. “Oh, baby, that must have been Thursday -- you were awake Thursday, I didn’t know …”

Guess Thursday wasn’t yesterday. Remember Monday morning, Abel going to work, don’t remember Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday wasn’t yesterday and don’t remember yesterday. Just remember waking up wrong.

Would be more upset, but sedated. Makes sense. Explains the numb, tired.

Close my eyes. Don’t know what else to do.

Got a lot of questions. Think I should feel scared, all that waking up wrong. Don’t want to leave Abel, don’t want Abel to leave. Should say I’m sorry, sorry I can’t remember if I drank too much on purpose, hope it wasn’t like crashing the bike, know I’m supposed to stay for Abel, want to stay with Abel. 

Should say I’m sorry for not remembering yesterday, might need to say I’m sorry for a lot. Think maybe I should feel scared, don’t, can’t -- numb. 

Think I might be asleep, don’t think I want to sleep now. Tired but scared to wake up wrong, want to open my eyes again, can’t, don’t. 


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Abel POV)

I try not to stare at the clock, because I have stared at the clock for long already. Not this clock for the entire time, but all the waiting areas they let me use have had clocks for me to stare at and count the seconds and minutes and hours that I wait. I’m as sick of clocks as I am styrofoam cups of coffee and cafeteria sandwiches, of trying to sleep on hard plastic chairs, of waiting and waiting and trying not to cry.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I glance down at the screen. I pull open the new message from Deimos that is half profanity in his frustration at the snow delaying him yet again. He’s been trying to get here since I first thought to message him, I think maybe sometime on Tuesday, but it could have Wednesday morning. Despite all the clocks, the time blurs together.

 _Half an hour_ , he texts. _Fucking half an hour just to find a goddamn fucking cab willing to go out in this shit what the fuck kind of shitty ass city do you live in I thought Earth was supposed to be all fancy and NO DO NOT STOP IT WAS YELLOW YOU PIECE OF SHIT DRIVER_

I’m not even sure he wants me to text back anything. I think him texting all this to me is probably like me watching the clocks. My fingers move over the screen anyway, I have to remember there’s something worth reporting.

_Sacha was awake again today. He was awake enough to talk some but is still pretty out of it. He’s asleep again now so take your time and be safe._

I keep telling him that, to take his time -- all these stupid clocks telling me exactly how much time he has to take. It’s a purgatory of waiting and waiting.

My phone buzzes again.

_Are you in with him?_

_No, kicked me out. They won’t let me stay overnight in the room._

I’m lucky enough just to get time with him. They wouldn’t let me in to see him at first, even though he kept asking for me. I could hear him screaming for me. It was so awful. I don’t want to think about it.

I lean back in the plastic chair and feel a sigh roll through me so deep it hurts. I am exhausted and know it. I’m not sure when I actually slept for more than a few fitful minutes since all this started.

My stomach twists slowly through its knots, and I rub a hand at the empty, angry feeling of too much coffee and not a lot else. By the time Deimos arrives looking like he ran the whole way from the colonies, I know to immediately tell him we’re leaving.

Deimos just stares at me, phone in hand.

“I need to eat something,” I tell him. “I’ll take you to drop off your stuff at the apartment on the way to whatever’s open. There’s no getting into see Sacha until morning anyway.”

I can’t be in this room anymore with the clock, and I can’t be in the apartment without Cain. I asked the nice old lady at the end of the hall to look after the cat. I went back Wednesday to shower and change out of my work clothes from Monday. I haven’t been back since. I can’t be in the apartment alone.

He shoves his phone into his pocket and hoists the duffel bag against his shoulder. “Fine.”

We’re in the elevator when Deimos asks, “What’d Sacha say?”

“Not much,” I have to admit. “He wasn’t awake long and didn’t seem too alert, he’s still heavily sedated. But he knew me, he could understand me this time.”

Cain woke up fighting. I knew he would. I warned them, I betrayed Cain. I am so guilty and sick and scared, I don’t want to think about how guilty I feel, how sad and frustrated and scared I’ve been. I knew it would be bad, I just never thought it would be this bad.

Deimos touches at my arm. “Not your fault,” he says.

I rub at my face. I betrayed Cain by letting strangers into our apartment to take him from me, and I betrayed him by telling them to pull up his medical records, warning them about Cain.

He woke up fighting everyone and everything, so wild with rage I could hear him from out in the hall. The whole floor heard him I’m sure. They told me he ripped out the IV drip and even managed to knock over some of the equipment, but I warned them. I told them to pull up his medical records. I called Dr. Warren, warned her too.

I guess I did everything right, but it still feels so wrong. Maybe Cain would have slept off the whisky, maybe he wouldn’t -- I’m glad I didn’t have to find out. I knew it’d be bad, I just didn’t think it would be this bad.

“Try not to lean too much,” I tell Deimos. “The roads are slick.”

He nods and balances across the back of the motorcycle with his duffel. I straddle over the front and feel one of his arms go around my waist. The snow’s still falling slow and thick as it has all day, so it’s barely faster than walking as I roll out of the parking lot.

Some of the drifts and heaps of plowed black-streaked snow block lanes, so it’s lucky that hardly anyone is out driving around this late even though it’s Saturday night. Approaching midnight, which means it’ll be Sunday, and I’ll have to start thinking about work on Monday and what I will do about it. I don’t want to think about that yet. I don’t want to think about all the clocks, all the time, the days Cain spent wild and angry and the days spent drugged and silent.

I pull into the parking lot and let the engine idle for too long. Deimos finally gives me waist a squeeze to ask, so I cut the engine. It’s hard, but I go inside and take the elevator upstairs to the empty apartment.

It takes the door shutting and our footsteps moving around a bit before the cat comes running in curious about the vibrations. Her meows trill into the air with loud, plaintive chiding for having left her alone this long. I can just imagine each indignant meow is her asking where Cain is over and over again, and it’s not fair to the poor, unnamed cat that I hate her for asking.

“Your cat?” Deimos asks, surprised. He sets his bag down and crouches to pet her.

“Sacha’s,” I say.

He smiles and scratches under her chin. She’s purring like she knows him, even though they just met. “Name?”

“Sacha hasn’t given her one yet. Let’s go,” I say. “I’m hungry.” I move toward the door. I can see the empty glass still on the balcony, the mostly-empty bottle still out there as well. I can’t be here without Cain.

Deimos rises to his feet but looks reluctant as the cat follows us, meowing so loud it hurts to hear her. I have to nudge her away from the door with my foot, but even then she tries to follow us into the hall still meowing for Cain.

“Stop it,” I say to the cat. “Stop it, stop it -- he isn’t here. Go away!”

Deimos snatches up the cat and dumps it on the other side of the door for me. We’re in the hall with the door closed, but I can hear the meowing still on the other side. She’s crying for Cain to come home.

I cover my face with my hands and sink to the floor. Crying won’t make Cain come home any faster. Nothing makes the time go by quickly. It’s been nothing but waiting, a horrible purgatory of waiting.

First I waited for the nurses and doctors to tell me he’d be fine, and now I’m waiting for that not to be a lie. They lied to me, told me he’d wake up soon and be fine, told me I’d done the right thing by bringing him in, he could have stopped breathing, acute alcohol poisoning, he had a mild case of hypothermia -- They were such liars telling me he would wake up and be fine, that I’d done the right thing. I remember the nurse lecturing me, as if I were the one who suggested Cain chug his way through the bottle. She lied to me, they all lied to me, telling me Cain would be wake up soon and then I could take him home, he’d be fine.

Cain woke up needing to fight everything and only stopped when they drugged him into still silence, drugged him so hard I thought he’d never come back to me. He might not still. They’re going to take Cain from me, I know it. He’s never coming home.

“He’s never coming home,” I sob to Deimos. “I know it, I just know it, they’re going to say he can’t come home --”

Deimos crouches next to me and pets me like he did the cat. I make all these horrible, huge, heaving sobs into my knees. God, I think I can still hear the cat meowing on the other side of the door as I sit there in the hall and cry. Both of us want Cain home so badly.

Eventually Deimos gets me off the hallway floor. He gets me to go back inside the apartment, and he makes me sit at the kitchen table while he stares at the contents of the fridge.

I catch at the cat’s flicking tail with my fingers. She twists around my ankles purring, her crying stopped same as mine. “Sorry,” I think to say to Deimos.

He shrugs and closes the fridge. Next he looks in the cabinets and then pulled down a box of pasta. I see him frown at the back of it before setting it on the counter.

“We can go out to eat,” I say. “I know a twenty-four diner near the hospital.”

He shrugs again and fills a pot with water instead. He picks back up the box to frown at the instructions before wandering to the fridge to find the butter. I realize I’m watching him as sharply as I would if Cain were in the kitchen and force myself to stop.

I fold my arms on the table and then lay my head into them. I am so guilty and sick and scared. I don’t want to be in the apartment without Cain, but Deimos has the water boiling now and is watching it carefully with a wooden spoon in hand. It’s oddly comforting to have someone else make decisions, do things, so I can just sit here. I close my eyes and listen to the quiet sounds of the cat purring and Deimos puttering around the kitchen.

When Deimos nudges me awake, there’s hazy dawn light streaming in from the windows and balcony. I have a blanket over my shoulders. He sets a reheated bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of me.

“Thanks,” I say. I get a shrug in return. He’s changed clothes from what he arrived wearing, and I don’t even know what to say or do besides eat breakfast, shower, and get changed as well so we can go sit in the room with clocks to wait.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Cain POV)

Wake up, fuck, was asleep, waking up --

No Abel.

Don’t move, can’t move, Abel not holding my hands but can’t move. Could move, don’t, still in the bed, white walls, hands just in my lap, leaned back some, still mostly upright, slumped into the pillows and no Abel. 

Want to shout for Abel, don’t. 

Want to go look for Abel, don’t.

Curl my hands, smooth them over the blanket. Curl them again. Look around. Four walls, a door. Machines, tubes, wires, beeping. 

No Abel. 

Close my eyes. Hospital, know that. Want to wake up again, wake up with Abel. Lie there with my eyes closed until I fall asleep, don’t, can’t. 

Later, nurse comes in. Don’t ask her about Abel. Don’t move, don’t say anything, don’t have to, don’t want to, don’t, can’t. Could, don’t. 

Just want Abel, want to wake up with Abel, scared Abel wasn’t here, woke up wrong and talked to Abel who wasn’t here. Four walls and a door, white walls, used to live in a hospital on the colony, couldn’t fake it, lived there until Abel showed up, asked me to come live with him. 

Maybe never happened, still there, gave my Abel another Cain, still there, been faking it, not real, could be, can’t be, have to be wrong.  

Four walls and a door, white walls, machines and tubes, not the same but could be, could be I got worse, was getting worse. Abel told me, getting worse, sign the papers -- maybe never happened, still years ago, still in the veteran’s hospital, another useless asshole jumping at shadows. 

Think I might cry, can’t, don’t. Scared Abel was never here, waking up wrong, wrong to wake up -- didn’t want to wake up, Abel wasn’t here, four walls and a door --

Door opens. Open my eyes as the door opens, see it’s Abel, Beth’s with him, don’t care about that as much as do seeing Abel. Can’t be the wrong four walls and a door if Abel’s here.

“Oh, Sacha, you’re awake!” He rushes over, grabs my hand, I grab him. Pull him, hard as I can, pull him into me, knock him off-balance so he half-falls on to me with a startled laugh. 

Won’t let go of him, tense and fucking shaking, shaking so bad now was so scared to wake up wrong again. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I was just outside, I couldn’t come in until now. You’re okay, Sacha.”

Let him go, remember Beth’s there, remember hating her, don’t now, can’t, didn’t before either, maybe, not sure. Glance at the tubes, the machines, know why things are wrong, doesn’t make it okay, know why I feel numb, wrong, guess it can be okay.

Need to be okay, know that. Know it’s not okay, guess it can be okay. Remember four walls and a door, Abel coming to ask if I’d go live on Earth with him, promising it’d be better than four walls and a door. Not there again, need to stop thinking about it, here with Abel, need to stay with Abel. Hope I didn’t do it on purpose, can’t remember. 

“Hello, Sacha,” says Beth.

Stare at her. Probably supposed to say hi, don’t. Can’t. Maybe could, but don’t. Should, don’t. 

“If Ethan leaves, will that be okay?” she asks. “I thought we could speak privately.”

Rasp, “Sure.”

Abel finds the cup, gets me more water. Waits until I’ve drank it before taking the cup, setting it aside. Say, “Sure,” again so they can hear me, not some scratchy too-dry whisper. 

Think Deimos would find it funny. Want to tell Abel, ask him to text Deimos for me, wonder where my phone went, realize I’m wearing a hospital gown in the bed, just the gown, good thing for the blankets.

“I’ll be right outside,” Abel says. He bends down, kisses me softly. Want to kiss Abel back, don’t. Can’t, maybe. Should, don’t.

Beth takes the chair. Waits for the door to close behind Abel and says. “Well, this is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, hot-shot.”

Says it like when she swears, being cute with it and trying to tease, trying to put me at ease, feel bad I hated her, didn’t really. Don’t, can’t, like her. Maybe she thinks I’ll laugh if she teases, but don’t. Can’t. Should, don’t.

She talks a bit more, says other stuff -- less cute with it, not teasing, serious. Explaining stuff, being my doctor, not a client anymore, four white walls and a door, beeping machines, makes her my doctor. 

Know she asked me a question. Feel the pause in the air. 

Don’t remember the question. Not sure I heard it, not sure I was awake, stare at her. 

“Sacha, I asked if you understood the severity of the situation. Do you understand that I will have you involuntarily committed if I think you are a danger to yourself or others? Do you understand what that means, and what I am saying?”

Nod.

“Sacha, I need to hear you say it. I need to know you are listening and understand me.”

Say, “Okay.”

See her brow go up.

Say, “If I fuck up, I get locked up.”

“More or less,” she agrees, looking relieved for a moment. Then calm again, always so fucking calm, guess that’s why she gets paid so well. 

“If you manage another twenty-four hours without a psychotic break, I’ll start to be more on board with getting you out of here,” she says. “But only if you agree to talk to me. We’ll just do thirty minutes to start with, and then I’ll have Ethan come back in. How’s that sound?”

Say, “Okay.”

Want to go home, be home with Abel. Promise I won’t go on the balcony to drink again.

She asks me how I feel, tell her I feel numb. She says I’m sedated, what Abel said too, she tells me it’s Sunday and asks what I remember, tell her I remember Monday, Abel told me I remember Thursday, tell her I remember talking to Abel but don’t know when. She tells me it was yesterday, Saturday, Abel asked about a yesterday that was Friday. She asks if I remember any of the other time between Monday and Sunday so tell her I kept waking up wrong. Talk about that, or try to -- hard to talk and think, numb. 

“Okay, Sacha,” she says. “That’s thirty minutes like I asked, but I have a few final questions for you and I need you to be honest. Did you stop taking your medication?”

Be honest, say, “Yeah.”

“Okay,” she says, even though it’s not. “When did you stop?”

“Night I broke into your office.” Words hard, coming out mushy, I can hear them slurred like I’m drunk but it’s the numb, sedated like she says. 

Hard to think and talk, but remember Abel looking sad and scared. Can’t fuck up, don’t want to get locked up, can’t stay in four walls and a door, Abel promised it’d be better, want to go stay with Abel. 

See her mouth flat, her looking at me, nodding as she says, “Okay. We’ll talk more about that later. Do you want Ethan to come back into the room now?”

Dumb question, don’t tell her that, just nod and say, “Yeah.”

She leaves, comes back with Abel, lets him rush to the bed and take my hands. Him whispering hi, petting at me, smiling, her watching from the door and not leaving. 

Abel nudges the chair to where he can sit and hold my hands again, like before. Holds both my hands like I’m going to fight free. Don’t, don’t want to, can’t anyway, shouldn’t. Can’t fuck this up.

Tell Abel numb when he asks how I feel, see his fragile smile as he says that’s okay. 

“Aleks is here, he came to see how you were doing. He got in last night,” Abel says. “Do you want to say hi to him? He’s out in the hall. I could bring him in for you.”

Want to explain about the scratchy voice, why it’s funny, think Deimos would like it, want to explain it to Deimos. Know I can’t, won’t, numb, say okay to Abel. Can’t fuck it up, know that. 

Deimos comes in scowling. Walks up to the bed and crosses his arms at me. All three of them in the room, room’s not big, four walls and a door, tubes and wires, machines beeping. Not much room, me in the bed, Abel in the chair, Deimos on the other side standing, looking at the machines like he’s curious about them, like he knows what the fuck they do, Beth over by the door watching. 

“Sacha? Sacha, baby, it’s okay -- do you need us to leave?” Abel whispering, seeing me looking all around, guess he thinks I’m nervous. 

Stop, shake my head, can’t fuck it up, say it’s okay and don’t say anything else. Can’t fuck it up. 

Finally Deimos feels like he needs to say something, I guess. Hear him say, “Hey, Sacha.”

Say, “Hey,” back. See his lip curl some. 

Know it’s bad Deimos is here, can’t remember stuff, fuck up get locked up, sedated -- know it’s bad, know it’s wrong, I am so wrong. Maybe not numb enough anymore, feeling a little scared, can’t fuck it up but already fucked it up bad. 

Don’t think Abel’s okay, looks sad and scared, good at faking it, better at this than me, so good at saying it’s okay and being a liar. Abel starts talking, fills the silence, gets little nods and small words from Deimos. Beth leaves, don’t see her leave just see her gone. 

Later, Abel gone, Deimos gone, Beth again so we can talk. Hour this time, need to talk the whole hour even though I’m tired, numb, words mushy but have to talk the whole hour, can’t fuck it up.

Get told I have to take my medicine, say okay, makes her frown. How’s saying I know I fucked up making her frown, not fair, tell her that, ask, “You pissed at me for tossing the pills out?” and hear her say, “I’m not mad at you, Sacha, I’m worried,” and don’t like that. 

She explains about Monday, asks why I did it, why I went out to the balcony to drink too much, tell her I don’t remember Monday, remember Abel going to work, tell her don’t know why I did it, see her frown. 

Not lying, don’t remember, try to tell her that. 

Her saying it’s okay even though it’s not, lying to me like my goddamn navigator. Tell her I don’t remember Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday doesn’t count, Friday’s gone, Saturday was just talking to Abel and all that waking up wrong . Tell her about waking up in the laundry room, tell her about fighting Deimos, the broken glass in the hallway, get us both confused because she has to ask when, has to ask what I’m talking about, never told her it was a fight, never told her how bad it got, told her I wanted to sleep better at night but didn’t say why, didn’t say I’d scared myself thinking about Reliant’s bowl, broken glass in the hall, hitting Abel and bruising up poor Deimos. 

Remember sitting in her office, remember Deimos in the shivery cold parking lot trying to yell at me in his broken whisper, remember that but guess I never told her about the fight with Deimos, woke up with Deimos snarling at me and Abel crying, blood on my face, just told her I wanted to sleep better and didn’t say why. 

Realize all that waking up wrong, Abel talking about restraints, Beth getting quiet. Asking me about Deimos, about fighting him, asks me about Abel going to the hospital, shoulder hurt. Asks about the fight with Abel, night I broke into her office, too many fights and waking up wrong.

Get real quiet, supposed to talk for the whole hour but quiet now, think I said too much again, fuck up and get locked up, won’t be able to go home, can’t if I fucked it up too bad, shit’s never okay because I’m so goddamn wrong. 

Hear her say okay, hour’s up, asks if I want Abel back in the room. Shake my head, eyes closed. Don’t want to sleep but can’t listen to Abel’s lies anymore, sick of seeing him look sad and scared. Fucked it up, fucked it up bad. Thought I could do this but can’t, obviously can’t, been fighting for half a year and just fucking can’t. 

Wasn’t trying before that, sitting out on the balcony to drink and smoke, left for a year, didn’t think I could do it but tried anyway, told Abel I’d do it. Signed the papers and promised I’d do this, promised him I’d do this, trying to fucking do this and just fucking can’t. 

Glad numb, glad words mushy, glad I feel weird and numb and not okay, think I might cry otherwise, not going to fucking cry even though I know I fucked up bad. 

Hear her say, “Voluntary commitment is an option, Sacha. I know a program that would be a good fit for you, a place I think you really might like. You’d be able to get all the help you need there, more help than Ethan and I can give you. I think you need that, Sacha, so I want you to think about it carefully.”

“Ask Abel. He’s the navigator,” I tell her. 

Real fucking quiet in the room. Hear my own mushy-mouth words and feel sick, used the wrong name, said the wrong thing, fucking this up bad. 

“I’m not going to tell Ethan, and I’d like for you to think about this without asking him either. I want this to be your choice. It needs to be your choice. Do you understand that?”

Say okay without opening my eyes.

“If I think you’re going to be a danger to yourself or others, I don’t have to ask you,” Beth says. Says it real fucking quiet, not being cute about it, dead serious. “Sacha, I don’t want to do that to you. I want to help you -- do you understand? I’m with you in this. I’d love to sign you out of here to go home with Ethan, but right now I’m not convinced one of you won’t just end up right back in this hospital again if I do. I can’t let that happen. Do you understand?”

Say okay without opening my eyes. Fuck up, get locked up, pretty crystal fucking clear I already fucked up, can’t do this, Abel telling me I’m tough enough but he’s just a dumb fucking navigator, doesn’t know a thing about being a fighter. 

Hear her leave, hear Abel’s voice in the hall, door closes but no one in the room with me. Four walls and a door, machines beeping.


	44. Chapter 44

It is only because Cain looks so miserable that I know he is serious. He won’t look at me for this conversation, he looks at his hands and slowly picks at his thumbnail. 

“Beth says you can visit,” Cain tells me, sounding so miserable. 

I don’t even know what to say. I’m not sure there is anything I can say. I can’t believe this is happening. 

“What about the cat?” I ask.

I cannot believe the words actually pass over my lips. I can’t believe they formed in my head, went to my tongue, and that my lungs breathed out the air to form them. What a stupid question, what a stupid thing to say -- I slept in my own bed for the first time in days last night, actually slept, so I can’t even blame exhaustion on just what an absolutely stupid thing I’ve just said. 

One of Cain’s shoulders lifts and then slumps. He still won’t look at me.

“I’ll - I’ll take care of the cat,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You can get rid of it. Give it to Aleks,” he says. 

The skinny little thing isn’t so painfully skinny anymore, after two weeks of us feeding her -- or rather, a week of us feeding her, a week of the old lady down the hall feeding her. A few days of Deimos feeding her, since he’s been staying at the apartment and forcing me back each night to eat and sleep. He’s been making me do all the things I wasn’t doing for myself while waiting for Cain, but now it’s finally the day they say Cain can come home -- only he says he isn’t coming home.

I want to ask why him so desperately, but I know the answer. I want to beg him not to do this, but I can’t. I want to promise him I’ll be able to fix this, I’ll make it okay. If only he comes home with me, stays with me, I can fix this. I know I can. 

I’ll take time off work, ask for a leave of absence. My boss took three months off to help her mother fight cancer, surely I can take three months to help Cain fight this. I won’t let him go on the balcony alone like that again. I’ll keep a better eye on him, like how after he crashed the bike I made sure to always drive and kept the keys where he wouldn’t be able to find them without me knowing. 

I already asked Deimos to teach me the submission holds he uses to beat Cain every time they fight, and we’ve even done some practice sessions where he’s flipped me into the carpet and told me I’m pathetic. But I can get tough, I am tough, I might have only been a navigator but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn to fight. I’ll make sure Cain never hurts me again, never has a chance to hurt anyone. I’ll keep him safe, like he always tries to keep me safe. 

I’ll find a way to reach him during the times he doesn’t know where I am, when he’s looking for me so desperately it hurts us both. I can do it, surely I can -- I’m a navigator, goddammit, I’m Cain’s navigator and I  _ know  _ I can find a way to reach through this to save him. 

I’ll try harder. I’ll do better. I was getting careless, I was letting all those good days get to me. I betrayed Cain to bring us to this point, but I can fix it. I can fix this.

“Ethan,” he says again. He’s been saying my name for a while now, just saying it over and over with each more devastated than the last. He’s trying to get me to stop, but I can’t.

I am sobbing into my hands, because I don’t know what else to do. I can’t do anything else. I can’t tell Cain no, I can’t beg him not to do this. I just can’t, and I know I can’t, but I just as desperately cannot stop crying knowing that Cain isn’t coming home with me. 

I brought him a change of clothes, he’s already changed out of the hospital gown and into the clothes I brought. His favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hold the ghosted outlines of his body into the creases and fades of denim, and a soft red shirt with a deep V neckline, because even though it’s snowing again I know Cain likes wearing short sleeved shirts. I brought him both a sweater and a flannel shirt because I wasn’t sure which he’d want on under his jacket, if either. 

I can do these things for Cain. I can help him. I brought him to live with me because I love him, I want to share my life with him, I need Cain in my life like I need air to breathe. 

“Ethan,” he pleads again. And then he says it, he says, “I’m sorry,” and it just breaks me.

“No,” I gasp. “No, no -- Sacha, it’s --” I choke on the word  _ okay  _ because it’s not, it’s not okay. None of this is okay.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the next sob. How can I expect to be tough, to be strong like Cain needs if I’m crying -- how can I fix this by crying? I can’t, so I stop. I force the tears to stop. I force my breaths to steady out of wet shaking and into a too-careful rhythm. 

“It’s fine,” I say. I impress myself with how smooth and calm it sounds. “I’m fine.”

Cain just looks at his hands like he has been this entire time, ever since he first asked me to sit down so he could tell me something. We’re alone in his room, me in the chair and him on the edge of the bed beside the plastic half-rail.

“Ethan, I’m sorry,” he says again. 

The room shimmers as I blink tears. “I’m fine,” I say. “It’s fine. It’s - it’s good. It’s good, if you want to do this, of course I’ll come visit and take care of the cat for you while you’re - you’re away.”

Just that one shoulder, hunching and then slumping again, while Cain doesn’t look at me.  

I want to ask if it’s temporary, if this is meant to be temporary or if Dr. Warren has convinced Cain he doesn’t belong anywhere besides a place with restraints and sedatives. 

I feel a sudden surge of anger, a fury so pure and intense it obliterates every last tear and sucks the moisture from my clogged throat. What did she tell him, to make Cain think he has to do this? He looks so miserable, this couldn’t have been his idea, it had to have been her idea and I am so angry now. How dare she try to take Cain from me like this, how dare she convince Cain that he’s such a threat he can’t be with me, that he can’t come home.

I have sat and waited and watched the clock like everyone told me to do, to just be patient and wait and well I have. I did wait. I waited a whole year already without Cain, that awful year he left, and I can’t go through that again. I can’t be in that apartment without Cain. I don’t want to be in that apartment without Cain.

I’ll check myself into the hospital, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll find the intake forms and sign my life away like Cain has, put myself in a place where I won’t be able to say when it’s time to go home, a place that’s going to make me miserable like it’s making Cain miserable. That’s what I’ll do. I won’t sit in that apartment to wait for Cain with a stupid deaf cat meowing at me all the time asking when Cain’s coming home. I can’t, I won’t --

“Beth says a few weeks. A month maybe.” Cain talks at his thumbnail, picks at it. “Ethan, I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“No, baby, no, don’t say that.” All my anger dissipates as I lurch out of the chair. Cain stiffens but doesn’t pull away as I caress my fingers over his hair, cup his cheek, settle my hand over his even though he’s so tense. “Sacha, this isn’t your fault. None of this --”

“I tossed out my pills,” he says. “I stopped taking them. I fucked up.”

I pull my hands back, hear my own gasp. It just hangs there in the air for a moment, and I see Cain is braced almost like he thinks I might hit him. I slowly sink back down into the chair, and my stomach sinks as well to see how that makes him relax some. 

I run what Cain’s just said through my head again. One detail jumps out of at me. “A few weeks?”

He makes that desolate half-shrug again. “Yeah,” he says. “Month maybe.”

I know that maybe is contingent on a lot of things beyond my control, beyond Cain’s control. He won’t be able to sign himself out the same way he’s signing himself in, but I don’t know what to make of the fact Dr. Warren has either lied to Cain or thinks this can be temporary. 

I can’t believe he stopped taking his medicine. It feels like such a betrayal, because I had no reason to think he wouldn’t, but I remember all the nights he fell asleep on the sofa, too groggy and exhausted to even come to bed at the end of the day, all the times during the day I’d catch him just zoned out and staring, the all-too-many excuses of being tired, of his leg hurting, so it was his hands and mouth for me because Cain is so selfless sometimes when you’d never expect it from such a rough-around-the-edges fighter. 

He is so sweet, and caring, he’s funny, he’s snarky and biting and wild, exciting, he’s lean and dangerous, he’s razor sharp and smart, so smart even though he thinks he’s not, and he’s beautiful, raw and fragile, prideful, haughty and full of sneering insecurities. 

He’s a fighter, he’s my fighter, and I realize he isn’t giving up at all when he finally looks at me. Cain glances up from his hands to show me all the dread and misery in expression, mixed with equal parts stubborn determination. 

“I’m done fucking up,” Cain says. “I won’t do it again.”

“Okay,” I say. I whisper it at him. It’s all I can think to say. He needs me to tell him it’s okay, I know that, I know he wants me to tell him this is okay. That dread, that misery, I’m the one doing that to him. 

I know it when he says, “Ethan, I’m coming back. Few weeks, a month, that’s all. I’ll be back. It won’t be like last year. I won’t… I won’t do that to you again. I’m not leaving you.”

“Okay,” I hush again. I’m afraid if I try to say anything else I’ll cry again, even though it’s okay. I believe Cain. 

He looks down at his hands again, that one glance having taken all his strength. “Okay,” he echoes.

“I love you.” I say it like a revelation, even though it’s something I’ve known for years and have told him countless times. “Sacha, I love you.”

Cain can’t even look at his own hands anymore, his gaze slides into the blankets. “Yeah,” he says. Even that’s hard for him to say, not because he’s so drugged he can’t think straight, but because I know Cain, I know this is hard for him. “Yeah, okay.”

He’s agreeing with me, so I remember his husky, sincere voice in the shower, months ago, that one time he actually said the words. I realize suddenly it’s what he’s always meant when he says that. He’s always meant it to agree with me, to echo the sentiment even if he can’t say those three small words so easily. 

“Okay,” I say to him. “Okay, Sacha.” My voice is firm now, I can manage a real smile. I set my hand over his, to let him know how much I mean this, and I am so grateful when he curls his fingers over mine to accept it. 

We just sit there in silence, not saying anything else, everything already been said. I feel Cain relax some and then relax more, so it’s like looking at the Christmas lights from the back of the cab. All that terrible tension he always carries, it slowly drains from him as we just sit there enjoying the silence and each other.

Months later when I lie awake at night in the empty apartment and think of Cain, I’ll think of that moment, and how I wish it could have lasted forever. 


	45. Epilogue 1

 

“Sacha, have you seen my other blue sock?”

I hear Ethan calling from the other room and don’t say anything at first, don’t even know what to do about it really, so he walks into the living room and catches me at it. I’ve got the sock he’s looking for right here in my hand, dangling it over Essem’s face. I freeze when I see him appear in the hallway, and he freezes, too. Essem doesn’t freeze, she bats at the sock and catches it. Her claws snag into the weave to yank her cottony prey close to maul and bite.

Ethan laughs. “Sacha, she has a million toys.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Guess so.”

He rolls his eyes at me and disappears back toward the bedroom again. “Are you already packed?” he calls out.

I don’t know why the fuck he does that sometimes, why he asks me questions and then walks away to where he can’t hear the answer. I ruffle my hand over Essem’s long, silky fur and then push to my feet. My leg’s a bit of a bitch about it, I spent too long in a weird position and now the shakiness is something like being asleep only worse.

I find him back in the bedroom with an open suitcase on the bed and a pile of rejected clothes hanging over the laundry basket at his feet. I lean into the doorframe to watch, some stupid smile on my face because he can’t see me do it.

“Be sure to pack something sexy,” I tell him.

Ethan glances over and rolls his eyes at me again, mirroring my stupid smile for just a minute before we both realize just how fucking dumb we’re being. “How do you know I don’t just have this thing shoved full of lace and leather?” he teases.

My brow arches as I push off the doorframe and limp over to look into the half-full suitcase. “Looks like a lot of khaki and cotton.”

“Well, I want to be comfortable.” He laughs and bends down to root up another t-shirt out of the laundry.

“You got a bathing suit in there?”

“Of course,” he says. “Sacha, are you already packed?”

He asks it accusingly, like I’d be lying around fucking with the cat and teasing him if I didn’t already have my duffel tossed together and set near the door waiting.

“Yeah, just waiting on you, princess.”

“Well, make yourself useful and find where I put the sunscreen. I bought two entire tubes of it the other day and now I can’t find where I put them.”

“Like they won’t have some there?” I shake my head at him and then ruffle his hair a bit rough, so it makes him laugh and duck out from under my hand. I turn and limp back through the apartment to try finding whatever the fuck it is Ethan’s so nervous about, if not a matching sock then some sunscreen or maybe he’ll want to come check on Essem’s water dish again like she doesn’t have plenty to last until Aleks shows up tomorrow to housesit.

I guess I don’t blame him for being nervous, but I’m trying hard not to think about it so it’d be real fucking great if he tried a little harder not to think about it, too. Like hell I’m going to say that to his face, though. I’m not fucking stupid.

Essem trails after me with a loud, curious meow. She’s always doing that, yowling at me like anyone gives a shit what she has to say. Ethan calls it cute. I think it’s obnoxious, but I guess I do like it sometimes, especially on days when I get restless. When she hops up on the kitchen table I scoop up her and let her butt under my chin and purr while I continue searching the apartment.

I find the sunscreen still sitting in the shopping bag still, wedged in with the groceries and forgotten. I snag one of the plastic loops on the handle and drop the cat down to the floor so I can look inside better.

When I show up back in the bedroom, I lean into the doorframe and wait for Ethan to notice. I can’t fucking help but flash him a shit-eating grin as I hold up the bottle of lube I found inside. “They gonna even let you on the plane with this much? And I’m not fucking you on the beach, you know. That’s just asking for sand in my dick.”

Red, he just goes fucking red, from the scooped neck of his shirt to the blond line of his hair. I bark a laugh at him. “Bet you looked cute as shit standing there at the cash register with this. Here, catch.”

I toss it from the doorway, and he fumbles the bottle straight through his hands. No wonder there’s never any photos of little kid Ethan playing sports in all those albums his mother shows me. I try the same with the sunscreen, and he manages to catch the second bottle. He glares at me some as he picks the one he missed off the floor.

“Really, Sacha, try to be less horrible,” he whines. But he’s smiling as he says that, that cute fucking scar on his lip blazing, so I grin back and make the effort to limp over and get my hands on him.

“You like me when I’m horrible,” I say.

“But I love you when you’re not,” he counters.

“Nah, you love me when I’m horrible, too.” I grin, all sharp-edged and biting with it so I see his eyes go soft and slutty for it. I rub my hands over him further, cup his ass through his jeans and bring him against me.

I kiss that scar of his, think about maybe searing another one into him. It makes me grin into the kiss, so he gets a chance to push back from me.

“Sacha, we’ll miss our flight,” he whines.

“Then hurry the fuck up, princess. I’m already packed.” I swat him lightly on the rump and then leave before I’m too tempted by the bed being right there.

When Ethan comes out hauling his suitcase I’ve got the cat in my lap so she can shed all over me one last time before we leave. I run my hand along her spine and scratch under her chin so she gets to purring, real fucking loud like always. I don’t realize Ethan’s there until he eases on to the sofa next to me. I don’t realize what he’s brought me until I see it, sitting there in his hand all round and small. He’s got a glass of water in his other hand. I don’t realize how fucking nervous I really am until I see him looking at me too serious and quiet.

I pinch the pill out of his open palm and swallow it without needing the water. I take enough fucking pills all the time and been taking them long enough. But I see the worry in those pretty blue eyes of his and take the water from him anyway, gulp it down like I needed it just so I can say, “Thanks,” and make him smile.

And then the words just tumble from me, each one a fucking a traitor. “Maybe I can’t do this. Ethan, maybe we shouldn’t --”

“Hey,” he says softly, interrupting me. The empty glass goes on to the coffee table, and he turns his knees into mine to get closer. His arm goes around my shoulders. “Hey, come on. You said you wanted to do this.”

“I know what I fucking said,” I snap at him.

Ethan just smiles some, like there’s a joke in all this. He takes my hand and interlaces our fingers so that the rings click. “Sacha, if you really don’t want to go then it’s fine. We can just stay here.”

“Shit kind of honeymoon,” I mumble.

“Well, it was a shit kind of proposal anyway, so it works.” Ethan smiles again, making it a joke for me so I realize he’s trying pretty fucking hard not to be nervous either. I have to swallow, hate that I feel this jittery and tense, feel it anyway and know that’s okay.

“You said you thought it was romantic.”

“Sacha, you threw the ring box at me and said I could go fuck myself.”

I shrug, looking away with heat stinging my cheeks because Ethan’s laughing at me, soft and breathless just like he sounded after realizing what it was I’d hurled at his face. My fault for not waiting for a better moment, but his fault more for asking too many times if I was sure I wanted to go out for dinner, like we couldn’t go out for fucking Valentine's Day like a normal couple after I’d spent all that time fighting for it to be that way.

I’ll forgive him for being a little shit about it, though, I’d only been back a month and things were still too raw and new. Still jumping at shadows even if I don’t go chasing them anymore. I guess that’s what I get for making him wait another year on me, a year I spent crawling at the walls and being too fucking crazy to come home.

Soft lips press into my neck, tentative little teeth nibble at my ear. He catches my earring and then  nuzzles his nose into my hair. His arms go around me, and his hands stroke over my shoulders. Ethan sighs contentment and then just sits there leaned into me. I slide my arm around his waist.

Neither of us says anything. There’s not much point to it. I know what he wants to say, he knows I don’t need to hear it, and that’s okay. Slowly my leg stops twitching, my forehead smooths out of wrinkles, and I can feel the slamming rush of my heart mellow into strong, steady thumps. I guess I was feeling more nervous that I thought, despite trying hard, but that’s okay.

“You know my mother is never going to forgive us for this anyway,” Ethan says at last. “We might as well flee town.”

It gets a chuckle out me, low and rough in a way I hate but can’t do anything about. “You had eight months to tell her. Your fault for not letting her see the ring.”

His turn to look away with stinging cheeks, but maybe we had a big yelling fight about it at the time so I’m being a jerk now mentioning it. I’d been home four months, so I thought he should have known better than to think I couldn’t handle being twice as awkward facing down Ethan’s parents with that ring advertising everything. Like us showing up together with a white-wrapped birthday present for his mother wasn’t something I could handle, me sulking around and trying to be nice to all his mom’s country club friends in wide-brimmed hats, no idea why they all wanted to fuss over me and tease Ethan but damned if it didn’t make his mother look happy.

I’ll forgive him for it being a little shit about it though, because of the way he was all over me soon as we got home, the way he started calling his mother more often and even inviting me along for lunch sometimes so I’d sulk around trying to be nice and call her ma’am because she’s a lady and Ethan is such a fucking momma’s boy sometimes.

I lean over and give his pouting lips a little bite. “Teasing you, princess.”

“I know that,” he says, sounding too defensive about it. But it makes him smile and nudge his shoulder into mine. He’s been smiling like that ever since coming back from the courthouse yesterday after we made it all official with just Aleks and the secretary at Ethan’s work around to tease us. 

I guess it makes me smile, too, the two of us being dumb fucking idiots about it but that’s okay.

“Ready?” Ethan asks me.

I think about it for a moment, let my eyes wander around the apartment. I got him to paint the kitchen this bright fucking green color he hates, and I would have made him put the other walls to match except he talked me down to this egg-shell pasty blue color. I like it though, like it better than the off-white it used to be. I never want to see another white wall in my life if I can help it.

“Yeah, I guess so.” I shove the cat off my lap and let Ethan help me get up from the sofa. The limp’s not so bad most days, not so bad today that I can’t snag his suitcase and get my duffel up on one shoulder as well.

Ethan grabs his jacket out of the closet and slides into it. “Sacha, are the plane tickets with you?”

“Yeah, I got them,” I say. I let him stick a hand inside my jacket to check, and I nibble again at his lips now that I’ve got him in range. It makes him laugh and hunch his shoulders to get away from me.

The cat follows after us to watch, but she knows better than to try running out into the hall. She sits in the entry beneath all the pictures of us on shore leave.

“Bye, stupid motherfucker. Don’t burn the house down.”

“Sacha, don’t call her that,” Ethan says, sounding scandalized as ever.

“What? It’s her name,” I protest.

I close the door on Essem and chuckle as she starts meowing her goodbyes at us. She’s pretty good about knowing I’ll always come back now, so she doesn’t cry for long before going silent. Used to be able to hear her all the way down at the elevator if I’d step out of the apartment.

Out in the lobby I sling my duffel down to wait for the cab. I set Ethan’s suitcase beside it and put my arm around Ethan himself, dragging him into my side for another kiss. I put my hands over him, because even after it nearly being a year back after a year gone, I just can’t fucking keep my hands off him sometimes. This is one of those times, because I keep seeing him brush at his hair or reach for the door or press an elevator button with that fucking gold circle on his hand gleaming at me.

He sets a hand against my shoulder to push me back. “Really, Sacha, you need to be fair about this. It’s a five hour flight.”

“So?” I grin at him. “They got bathrooms up there, don’t they?”

“No way,” he says. He crosses his arms and looks pouty about it, feisty in the way I like. “You can wait for the hotel tonight.”

“Pretty sure I can’t,” I tell him.

“No,” he says firmly. “No way, Sacha. Don’t even think about it.”

He shouldn’t have said that, because it’s all I think about for the cab ride. I think about it watching Ethan checking in our luggage, I think about it sitting at the gate waiting, I think about it while the plane taxis around and some other navigator lifts us up into the sky. I think about it so much I forget to be nervous, forget there’s even anything to be nervous about except whether the flight attendant knows what I’m thinking.

I give Ethan maybe an hour of me just trailing my fingers over his knee and arm before making a move. He glares at me for it and shoves the blanket off his lap rather than let me get my hand under it.

He’s gotten all feisty now, scar blazing as he frowns disapproval at me. “Didn’t you bring a book?”

Because he’s sitting there trying to read, and I obviously don’t have anything to entertain myself with other than the hot piece of ass sitting next to me. He sighs and digs something out of the seat back for me to read.

I let him think that’s going to work by flipping through it long enough to know it’s boring, and then I’m back trying to lean over his shoulder at the book he’s got. I don’t care what the actual words on the page say, I’m just doing it so I can get a hand on his thigh and make it look casual.

“Flight attendant’s not even looking,” I say. “Now’s our chance.”

“No way.”

“I’ll fake like my leg’s worse than it is,” I whisper over at Ethan. “So I need your help getting to the bathroom.”

“You are going to get us kicked off this plane,” he hisses.

“Pretty sure we can just flash the rings and say we’re honeymooners, she’ll go wet for it and turn a blind eye.”

“Sacha, you’re being horrible again.”

“What’re they going to do, boot me into the clouds?”

Ethan closes his eyes for a moment as if he’s too exasperated for words, but I can see his lips turned up in a smile. I like when he’s feisty as much as he likes when I’m horrible, so it works. “Fine,” he says. “Wait a minute and then follow me.”

He unclasps his seatbelt and then gets into the aisle. Pretty choir boy Ethan, teased him to hell and back for it after his mother showed me the albums, I wonder if such an angelic-looking kid ever thought he’d end up with a deviant like me.

I watch him look nervously toward the flight attendants and then shuffle red-faced and looking guilty as sin over to the lavatories. He slips inside one, and I slowly count to sixty before getting up from my seat as well.

The door accordions open with Ethan trying to hide against the sink, like anyone’s trying to peek in here to look at him. Immediately I realize there is entirely less space in here than I thought there would be, and I can just see the fucking ‘I told you so’ building on Ethan’s face as we shuffle around awkwardly.

“Careful!” he hisses, as I back him into the sink and the faucet sprays to life. He adjusts and ends up flushing the toilet next as we search for anywhere to actually do this. I start kissing his neck anyway, put my hands all over him, make him laugh even as we continue to bump and shuffle.

I pop the button on his jeans and get a hand down the front to make him arch and moan. His fingers go into my hair as I put him against the door with a lean and hungry kiss, tongues plunging and working heat between us. He’s got that soft, slutty look in his eyes that drives me wild, makes me want to talk dirty and see him blush even after all this time.

I chuckle against his throat as I push denim over his hips. He’s got to go against the sink again, can’t trust the door latch not to rattle and give it all away. Ethan reaches back and helps get my pants pushed out of the way as well, strokes his hand over all that hot, eager stiffness I’ve got jutting into his thigh.

“Where’s that big bottle of lube when you need it?” I mutter into his hair. I hear him laugh, breathless and moaning, because I’m using saliva and patience to work him open.

I trail kisses over the back of his neck as he tucks his head down and grips the sink. There’s barely enough room for me to knock his knees apart and get between them.

We might both be limping hard after this, because my thigh’s burning with the strain but I don’t fucking care. I’ve got this soft, silly navigator begging for it like putty in my hands, and there was no fucking way I could wait for the hotel tonight. Not with the way I can see that gold gleaming on his hand as he slaps at the mirror and gasps as I give it to him good.

Ethan gets so eager and slutty that he forgets to be quiet, starts gasping my name so that I have to shush at him and laugh even while I’m groaning and moaning toward climax. I set my teeth into his shoulder, his neck, feel the vibrations as he shivers and shakes. He gets tight around me, trembling, spurting into the pump of my hand as I fuck him.

I’m not sure if it’s well-timed or intentionally-timed, but just as we’re dazed and panting with the deed done there comes a soft but urgent knock on the door. Ethan flinches and goes molten with embarrassment, round-eyed with horror. I just laugh, almost cackle actually, gleeful because what the fuck does it matter if some prissy flight attendant wants to let us know we’ve been caught?

“Be out in a minute!” I call.

Ethan bursts into a giggle and then presses his mouth so tight the scar flares, all cute and feisty with the way he’s trying to glare at me. There’s nothing he can do except get everything a little cleaned up and put back together again. I wonder if the flight attendant can hear us shucking our pants into place and running the sink to wash our hands.

I can tell Ethan doesn’t want to be the first one through the door, but I don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if the whole plane knows I got laid. They ought to all be jumping up and clapping for me that I’ve got such a hot piece of ass standing there chewing on his nail with a gold circle gleaming.

“Ready?” I whisper.

Ethan shakes his head, so I laugh and shove the door open.

The flight attendant’s looking ready to spit at us, but I just bite a grin and grab Ethan’s hand. I flash the rings at her and say, “We’re on our honeymoon.”

Once we’re back in our seats, Ethan snatches up his book and buries his bright-red face in it. I stretch and lean awkwardly in my seat to try getting comfortable for my leg, no way it’s going to happen but that’s okay.

A little while later the flight attendant comes by and hands us each a terse, embarrassed smile and a complimentary glass of wine. Ethan looks ready to choke as he tries to thank her. I barely keep from laughing.

“Don’t say it,” Ethan hisses. “Don’t fucking say it, Sacha.”

I swallow my ‘I told you so’ only because he looks so fucking cute hunched in his seat like he wants to melt right under it. He doesn’t say a word to me for the whole rest of the flight, but that’s okay. In between turning the pages in his book, he lets his hand rest into mine, and I feel his thumb run over the gold circle I’ve got gleaming. Maybe he’s thinking about his no-good, hot shot fighter like the way I’m thinking about my too-good, slutty navigator, and I like that kind of thinking.

 


	46. Epilogue 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote this, I didn't expect how much more of the story would follow. As such, this chapter now exists as Chapter 1 of the sequel, Numbered Days. I apologize for the confusion.

I’m standing in my swim trunks, miserably damp, tears hot on my cheeks, breath hitching, hysterical. Sirens wail and moan beyond the glass vestibule separating the pool from the hotel. I can see a short length of hallway, the hotel manager returning with a police escort to where she left two of the staff guarding the doors. The fire alarm whoops and shrieks, strobe lights flash with panic, I’m glad this is happening in style.

This is the third day of my honeymoon, the fourth day of my marriage, and the two hundred seventy-fifth day since Sacha came home. It’s the day I’ve been waiting for, it’s the counted-up disaster of too many beautiful days. I write them down as I count them, it’s a new habit, one I started when the days I counted were the ones Sacha spent away. Now I write them down to remember them, I started a fresh series of counts, now they’re days to look back on and smile, especially my favorites.

Of the days I’ve counted most are wonderful, some terrible. Everything started strained and awkward after living a year apart. Old habits I’d forgotten, new habits we both accumulated, things being different and the same, days being good and bad. All of it beautiful, I have loved every single counted day of this almost year of Sacha being back.  

Such as day forty-three, the day Sacha yanked a clenched fist from his pocket and swung it at me. A ring box shot across the room, hit my tossed-up shield of an arm, bounced to the floor, his voice shouting, _Go fuck yourself, Ethan! Just go fuck yourself forever!_ Sacha kept staring white-faced at nothing, kept grimacing at me he was fine when he clearly wasn’t, I felt wretchedly nervous about us going out for dinner on a busy Saturday night, Valentine’s Day. I couldn’t stop asking if he was okay because he clearly wasn’t, he was clearly terrified and anxious.

I couldn’t believe he’d been planning a proposal, he’d been worked up over that, I started to laugh even though he looked miserable for yelling. He struggled down to one knee when he picked up the ring box anyway, asked me something with aching sincerity and sweetness. Said he’d put a lot of thought into it while away. Day forty-three is one of my favorites.

Day two hundred seventy-two is another good one, Friday at the courthouse. Sacha and I swapping signatures, rings, a kiss, I don’t know why I made Sacha wait that long for something so simple. He wanted to right away, soon as I said yes. Maybe I do know why, maybe it really wasn't the excuses I gave Sacha about my parents, my mom’s maniacal desire for wedding, not wanting the stress of all that right away, wanting to wait. Him always shrugging, scowling, mumbling, upset but trying to be understanding, not always managing it. There was two hundred fifty-one, the day we fought for the last time about setting the date, because a friend-of-a-friend at the movies saw the ring, asked, got Sacha scowling over it fresh. Stomped around the apartment yelling, both of us heated about it until he snapped, _If you don’t want to marry me then just fucking say it!_

I couldn’t argue with him after that, couldn’t make him wait any longer than three weeks I needed to make the arrangements. To hell with my mother, monogrammed everything, my father choking on his disapproval and hatred. I didn’t want a wedding, neither did Sacha, he just insisted on a tropical paradise honeymoon.

We spent the first full day here at the beach and the pool, I taught Sacha to float enough he won't drown swimming, it’s been perfect for exactly so many days, but I’ve been waiting for today. I’ve been waiting two hundred and seventy-five days for this one. I think I’m about to get arrested. I’ll have to write this down as the day I got arrested because of Cain.

I don’t know what to do now that the insistent hotel manager has a police officer with her. Quit, obviously, probably a good idea to stop resisting. I lift up my hands, catch sight of my wedding ring wedged firmly in place, feel a cold twist in my gut. “I’m sorry, wait -- “

Rain continues to beat against the glass overhead. The entire hotel pool is enclosed, heated and snug, Sacha hadn’t wanted to swim but was more than fine lounging in one of the deckchairs while I made lazy laps in the warm water. Day three of our honeymoon, four more days still left before our flight, one extra cozy Sunday at home alone before I’m back to work on Monday. We were in the mood for lazy and cozy, waking up to a rain-soaked cancellation of all our half-hearted plans. We talked about getting room service later. Now I’ll have to get it from jail.

“Sir, you need to leave the building,” the police officer says.

He sounds tired and wary, hopeful this will be quick, wants to be kind because he’s figured out I’m a wet sobbing mess. Only someone hysterical would refuse to leave a potentially burning building, although the manager’s already tried to assure me it was just a small kitchen fire that triggered the alarm. No actual emergency here except the one I know is unfolding.

The hotel manager starts to speak. She’s heard my plea enough times. “His husband --”

“He’s inside,” I say. “My husband --” only the first time I said it gave me a thrill, the first calm explanation I gave to try getting upstairs. “He went to our room -- on the eighteenth floor -- the elevators aren’t working -- he can’t use the stairs -- wouldn’t think to use them -- he might still be in the room --” This isn’t so much speaking as forcing words out around sobs, I realize.

I don’t want to think about the jolted, jarring terror I felt coming out from a fresh dive. One moment underwater tranquility, the next surfacing to this unfolding disaster. Alarms blaring, hotel guests laughing and groaning, no one all that scared because nothing all that awful ever happened to them. Fire alarms just mean having to stop the fun, having to rush around in the rain, the hotel staff apologizing to everyone for the inconvenience.

And then me, wide-eyed, scrambling out of the pool and running opposite everyone else, running inside for the elevators. Elevators which, in a fire, helpfully stop operating. I learned that from the hotel manager, before we reached the point where she locked me into this vestibule to keep me from finding the stairwell, keep me from running around the burning building screaming for Sacha.

The building’s not even on fire, I know that. It doesn’t need to be, just the strobe-light flash and wail of the alarms is enough. I never should have let Sacha out of my sight. He made sure to come find me in the pool, said he was going up to the room, wanted to get the book I had on the plane, figure he’d give reading it a shot while I swam. Not a big deal, but leaving our phones and wallets in the beach tote tucked under the deckchair, took just his hotel key with him, two hundred and seventy-fifth days since he came home, enough so I nearly forgot what being this scared felt like.

Fresh tears pour out of me, I can’t stop thinking of Sacha alone in our room, the alarm screaming, he’s been so good about everything that it’s been too good to be true. Two hundred seventy-five perfect, beautiful days, surely this is the one to ruin it all. I don’t see any other alternative. This kind of thing, this kind of unmitigated disaster, it’s too much for Sacha. It’s too much for me.

The police officer’s murmuring into his radio. He doesn’t seem immediately ready to arrest me. I only ever got truly hysteric when they stuck me out here, kept trying to get me leave through the fire exit. The front desk clerk dared to take my arm and guide me. I went from face-in-hands weeping to sudden shrieking panic. I’m not sure I want to remember the rest.

The fire alarm stops ringing, I can hear my own shaky breathing now. I brush at my wet cheeks. It’s quiet enough that I hear the chatter back on the police officer’s radio, just the final tail end of someone acknowledging him.

“Are they clearing people to re-enter the building?” A bit scratchy, I was screaming earlier. I offer, “I don’t need the elevators turned back on or anything, I’ll take the stairs.” Good, my voice sounds entirely steady now.

Everyone kind of looks at me, I try my best to look rational, calm. I’m not hysterical anymore, I understand that sobbing and panicking isn’t helpful to anyone. The police officer says, “Let’s go outside.”

“I’d like to go back to my room,” I say. “I need to find my husband.”

The police officer’s balding, forty-something, probably has a wife and kids at home. He’s trying to sound sympathetic, “Firefighters are going to check your hotel room, they’ll assist your husband.”

The police officer thinks this will reassure me. He says it in such a reassuring way. Same way the hotel manager thought to talk about the handicap-accessible rooms on the first floor, asked if I’d like to switch after this is over, that was at the start of the conversation before I lost the ability to be calm about this.

But I’m calm now, I’m calm again, I don’t want a first-floor room because our current room overlooks the beach, ocean, it’s a beautiful private balcony view, I didn’t realize the elevators wouldn’t work in a fire because who ever thinks of that? Who ever thinks their perfect tropical paradise honeymoon is going to catch fire, go up in smoke, turn into shrieking alarms and strangers?

The police officer tells me we’ll wait outside, the firefighters are headed upstairs to find Sacha, but I need to explain all the reasons why that’s the worst possible solution. Sacha will want me, he’ll want Abel, I’m going to get dragged kicking and screaming from this hotel insisting that I’m Abel, that Cain needs Abel, they have to let me go find Cain.

But I don’t explain anything, I don’t start shrieking. The alarm’s stopped, there isn’t a fire, I’m staring at this police officer and realizing I’m about to get arrested so it’s all very sobering. I suddenly feel very calm. I’m abruptly quite scared.

This is my last warning. He’s got a hand at his side, he’s about to get restraints. “Sir, you need come outside with me.”

“Okay. Okay,” I agree. “Okay.”

Everyone moves kind of a cautious about it, like I’m going to take off running or worse. Doors get unlocked, the hotel staff scurries aside, the police officer looks ready to tackle me. I try not to stare at the gun holster on his belt. I get escorted down the hall, past the stairwell doors, past the elevators, through the lobby, out to the front where rain beats off the pavement.

Rain dribbles off the edges of the hotel’s covered curving drive, rain puddles over the grass, against the curb. Hotel guests have scattered, into their cars or surrounding businesses, the restaurants and shops. Faces peer from under covered awnings, clusters of laughing vacationers try to stay dry. Firetrucks, cop cars, and even one ambulance crowd for space near the doors.

The police officer is guiding me somewhere specific. His car, I think, and I hope I’m not getting arrested. He walks me alongside one of the fire engines, gestures as he explains exactly what I assumed about waiting in his car. He wants to keep an eye on me, possibly still plans to arrest me. We cut around the corner of the truck.

“Ethan?” Shocked, soft, unsure and then louder as my head turns -- “Ethan!”

Sacha’s sitting in the back of the ambulance, blanket around his shoulders. He’s just as I saw him last, blue-patterned swim trunks, bright turquoise-rimmed sunglasses perched on his head, bare-chested except steel dog tags, flip-flops on his feet. A firefighter and paramedic both with him, their stances loose and casual, seems like they must have been chatting a moment ago, now everyone’s curious, concerned, heads turning.

My escort pauses, stops entirely. I nearly run from the police, I nearly burst forward everything instead of just my voice. “Sacha!”

We’re not that far apart, maybe twenty feet, there’s not a lot of room under the drive and no one wants to get soaked in the rain for this non-emergency situation so all the emergency vehicles are wedged close together. I’d run to Sacha, but I think if I dart away from this cop I’ll be put on the ground for resisting arrest.

Sacha’s already getting down from the ambulance, his bad leg going jittery, the paramedic offers him an arm to use and Sacha nods gratefully, takes it. He’s completely fine. White-faced, anxious, grimacing and tense, but Sacha knows where he is, what’s happening, who he is and who these people are. Everyone on his side of things is trying to help and he’s letting them, he’s fine with that. Sacha’s fine.

Everyone on my side of things, especially this officer, is waiting for me to freak out again. I’m ready to, I don’t blame them. I’ve started shaking I’m so relieved. I might be whimpering.

“Oh, that’s -- that’s my husband,” I hastily tell the police officer. “That’s him, that’s him, he’s --”

Sacha’s flip-flops snap off the pavement as he comes closer. “What the hell, Ethan? Where have you...?”

He sees how serious the police officer looks, how wide-eyed I am. He slows, stops. Starts to look unsure of things, the tight relieved smile falls from his face. He left behind the blanket, I wonder why he was in the ambulance but no one seems concerned about that, least of all Sacha. Everyone's concerned about me.

I bite my lip against the urge to laugh at the perplexed exasperation on Sacha’s face. He looks from me to the hotel doors and then the officer, quickly and calculating. He’s putting it together, starting to get upset. Realizing what must have happened, how I must have reacted. I feel a bit hysteric still, realize there are tears clogging up my vision, everything wet even though we’re under the dry covered driveway.

“This is your husband?” the police officer asks.

Sacha says tersely, “Yes, sir.”

I can’t help it. I start to giggle. I have to press my face into my hands quickly, weep and sob all over again even though I’m trying to laugh. I’m happy, really, I’ve never been so happy to be so utterly wrong. I don’t even care if I get arrested. There can’t be much jail time involved with being a hysterical mess.

The paramedic and firefighter come over, they’re on a first-name basis with Sacha. He’s been out here the whole time waiting, he was on the ground floor heading back to the pool -- close to an exit, he jokes to the cop that he was the first one out and looks tense saying it, probably means it’s nearly true.  

It’s all a bit overwhelming. Sacha’s calmly explaining this to the cop, he’s already explained it to the firefighter he’s with, the paramedics, he’s apologizing for us both, those poor firefighters probably already searching our empty room. I think people are starting to smile, everyone wants to be sympathetic to a set of honeymooners and Sacha is shameless about reminding people. He has this under control. He’s had it under control from the start.

The hotel manager goes to get the beach tote with our wallets, phones, my flip-flops, our shirts, his medication, all those important things I forgot. Sacha explains what it looks like, where he left it under the deckchair. I’ve stopped crying, Sacha’s got his arm and the blanket around me, the paramedic brought it over for us. I’m quiet, letting him lean on me a little to help with his leg, or maybe he’s letting me lean into him.

“For fuck’s sake, Ethan,” he mutters. His hand rubs into my shoulder. “There wasn’t even a fire.”

“There was a small one. In the kitchen, the manager told me.”

I’m looking at the ground, my voice a wet mumble, he’s looking at whatever’s not me, we haven’t had a for-serious fight since day two-five-one, the fight over setting the date. I’ll write this down as the fight over the fire. Maybe I’ll get to laugh about it later.

I can feel the tension in Sacha, the stiff set of his back, the hard line of his arm around me. He knows exactly why I panicked. He knows what happened. I don’t think I’ll laugh about this day later.

I press my cheek into Sacha’s shoulder, feel the cold tickle of the dog tags against my arm. I huddle to his chest because he lets me, puts me there with the clutch of his arm. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, huffs an angry, dismissive sound at me. The hotel manager returns with our things, Sacha thanks her. It won’t be long to reset the alarms, clear the building, let everyone back inside. The paramedic offers to let Sacha wait in the ambulance again. Everyone’s being nice to Sacha. He’s the sane one, this calm, apologetic fighter with a scatterbrained, frantic navigator who can’t handle sudden flashing alarms.

I wonder what he would have done, if I’d come out in restraints. Probably find a lawyer, call my mother, maybe try his rough-edged charms on the judge like he has the cop and hotel manager. Sacha did all the right things, continues to do them, he limps back to the offered ambulance, gets to take me with him. I get in first and then help Sacha up the awkward step. Surreal calm follows in the way Sacha tucks me against him. The front half of the ambulance sticks out into the rain, I can hear the water beating over the roof.

They’ve hauled out the stretcher, left an open rectangle of space lined by the padded bench. Sacha has me sitting between him and the open doors, that’s probably intentional. The squared off view shows the hotel manager talking with the police, shaking her head. I'll leave them a good review for not pressing charges. I don’t think I broke anything, hurt anyone, just a lot of crying and hitting my hands on the glass, rattling the latch, refusing to listen.

I brush at my cheeks, sniffle, feel Sacha’s lips turn into my hair. I think he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He sighs instead, lets me go, digs our shirts from the beach tote. He presses my shirt at me, slips into his own. The dog tags disappear under the cotton fabric, he adjusts the sunglasses through his hair.

Sacha reaches into the tote, fishes up the pill bottle and pops two at once, neat and dry, perfunctory like when he drinks whisky. He taps out a third and fourth, I’m not going to say anything because he doesn’t have enough in whole bottle for it to be too many, but our eyes meet. He knows I’m watching, counting. The bottle goes back into the tote, tossed with a hard rattle. I’m not going to say anything, it’s a four-at-once situation if anything is, even if that's a bit too much.

He’s furious, miserable, terrified, struggling not to show any of it. His gaze crawls along the wall of the ambulance, glances over the multitude of cabinets and equipment. His bad leg twitches, shakes, all of him is trembling. I don’t think he likes the back of the ambulance. I don’t think he likes any of this, really, he’s white-faced and nervous, flinching when someone slams a car door too near. But he knows precisely what’s happening, nothing lost, all of him anchored into this moment.

I can’t look at Sacha anymore, but I can’t look away either. I watch him from the corner of my eye, same way he’s keeping track of me. We’re still sharing the blanket, huddled close, Sacha’s arm around my shoulders. His fingers dig bruises. He glares up at the ceiling, leans to look out the doors. He’s keeping focused, alert and aware, he’s terrified but calm. He’s being perfect, for the two hundred seventy-fifth day in a row.

My stomach sinks. I’m starting to feel horrified, embarrassed, deeply ashamed. I should have stayed calm. I could have gotten out of the pool, collected our things, peacefully exited the building. I had access to Sacha’s phone, his medicine, things he needed. He had nothing except the room key, his flip-flops and sunglasses, swim trunks, the dog tags, just what he was wearing, nothing else. He got himself outside, didn’t panic, maybe panicked anyway but at least didn’t freak out like I did.   

“I’m sorry. Sacha, I’m so sorry.”

His shoulder lifts. His gaze cuts past me to the open ambulance doors. Everyone’s given us some space, I can see the paramedic wander past, glance over with a smile, a nod that Sacha returns. We’ll be a cute story later I’m sure.

“I get it.” Sacha doesn’t look at me, his eyes roam the inside of the ambulance. Slow, careful, the words sounding forced. “It’s fine, Ethan. I get it. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You’re upset.”

“Yup.” His leg shivers, he shivers, Sacha glances at the doors again. Rain bounces and bangs off the roof. “Kind of don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Oh.” I look out the open doors as well. My mind goes blank suddenly. All topics that aren’t this moment vanish. I can’t focus on anything else. I have no idea what to say.

His gaze flicks to me. I see him grimace, swallow, he has to look away. He hates seeing me scared like this, hates seeing me cry. I hastily wipe at my face.

Voice shaky like his leg, white showing all around the blown-out dark of his eyes. “Mike’s got a wife and two kids. They’ve been married seven years, their oldest has been six since June. Do the math on that. They didn’t waste any time, huh? Might’ve been a shotgun wedding.”

I’m not sure the questioning noise I make is an actual word.

“Mike’s the firefighter. I started talking to him while waiting on Lee and Ricardo to show up.” His shoulder rolls to gesture. He must mean the paramedics. “Whole fucking lot of fuss considering I just asked for somewhere quiet to sit, but they were good sports about it.”

I need to say something. Sacha wants to talk sometimes when he gets nervous, he wants something to focus on, he needs something to do and right now all he has is talking to me and trying to get comfortable while he waits.

“Oh. Um, did -- you? Okay.”

I can’t contribute anything useful. It’s a miracle I’m not trying to apologize again or start crying. I can’t look at Sacha for this -- looking at my hands isn’t any easier. I press my thumb into my ring, worry at it with my other hand. My fingers turn the metal, slide it around my skin, press and press to knead and work the flesh and bone surrounding the band.

He sighs. Heavy, resigned, his voice cool as the gold loop in my frozen hands. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I hunch my shoulders. I rub my face, sniffle. Wet and miserable, all the sorrier for having to admit it. “No.”

He bullies me closer, pulls me into his chest. His lips press into my hair. Only his thigh is shaking now, the bad leg as stubborn as he is. “You know when I told Mike you were probably freaking out I didn’t realize I’d be this right about it.” The words are rough edged, burred and frayed into a softness that crushes my chest with bittersweet ache.

I close my eyes, press my face into his neck. I might cry again, I hope I don’t. It’s not helping. I whisper, thin and miserable. “Sorry.” Apologies aren’t helping either. I’m being exceedingly not helpful.

Sacha cups the back of my neck, strokes my hair. “Nah. Rest of my life I get to remind you of the time I kept my shit together and you spazzed so hard you nearly got arrested. I can’t wait to tell Beth. You’re never hearing the end of this, sweetheart.”

“You’re horrible,” I choke. It’s a laugh and sob at once.

“Yup. And you love it.” He’s the brief glimpse of a close-up smirk, a tipped together kiss, warm steady hands cupping my face. His thumbs edge away moisture, it’s a tender reprimand, a gentle plea. I really do feel calm when he stops, strokes my hair until I smile.

I rest my head on his shoulder, he takes hold of my hand. I look across at the medical equipment. “What do you think that machine does?”

“The blue one?” he asks. I hum softly to affirm. “Dunno, looks important.”

“Yeah, it does. It’s neat how they can fit so much back here,” I say. “It really is like a tiny hospital on wheels.”

His hand runs over my arm. “Yeah. It kinda is.”

We talk about the labeled compartments, the other medical equipment, Mike the firefighter’s two kids, what we might do once it stops raining, how we’ll order room service later. I talk to Sacha about anything besides flashing alarms and shrieking navigators. I lean into him, so he leans into me, and eventually his bad leg stops trembling. He gets quiet, just wants to listen to me instead of talk. His head finds my shoulder. He'll be asleep soon.

Fortunately it’s not long before we’re let back into the building. Sacha returns the blanket, thanks the firefighter and paramedic, everyone’s being nice to bleary-eyed, woozy Sacha. I can’t look at anyone, can’t say anything. Especially not to the hotel staff, once we get inside and stand there to wait for the elevator. I might hide in the room the rest of the trip. I might ask Sacha what he thinks about switching hotels. Switching islands, maybe.

I take a shower, wash the chlorine from my hair, take the time to blow-dry it afterward with the bathroom door closed to block the noise. I come out find Sacha in bed, television on, room a dim glow, drapes closed across the walk-out balcony, that lovely beach view. I want to ask Sacha how long he thinks it would take him to get down the stairs. Probably not that much longer than it would take me. He does well with his leg, with everything. He’s not helpless, I know that. 

Earlier I should have just walked outside, found Sacha, sat with him somewhere, stayed with him, been with him -- been there for him like he needed. Instead he had to ask strangers for help, had to sit around wondering where I was on top of everything else.

His eyes are already closed, expression slacked, he’s sprawled with space and pillows left open for me. I can't tell if he started off watching television or just put it in for aimless background something.

“Taking a nap?” I whisper in case he’s out already.

“Mmhm.” He’s good as sleeping. Now I would be in trouble getting him out if there was a fire, bad leg or no. After four-at-once that’s no surprise.

I slide into the bed, nudge under Sacha’s offered arm. I rest my cheek into his shoulder. He stirs heavily to get comfortable, becomes even heavier. I listen to the rain outside, the wind sweeping it onto the balcony, the soft background murmur of the television -- and beneath me, Sacha’s slow steady heartbeat, his long even breaths. I tell myself I won't write anything down for today, I decide I’m done keeping count of the days since Sacha came home, that I’m going to stop waiting for Cain.

Eventually I play the TV too loud, get mumbled responses from Sacha until he’s upright, eyes open, asking me questions about the movie even though it’s the third act already, he needs to have been paying attention from the start. He wakes up with a headache, we stay in bed even when the rain stops, order room service, don’t leave the room the rest of the day, don’t care since it was going to be a lazy, cozy day anyway.  

It’s not a day we fight about how I still can’t trust him, how I can’t stop thinking everything going to go up in flames. I guess he’s not too upset at me for thinking it in a four-at-once situation. That night while Sacha’s brushing his teeth, I write it down, tell myself I'll want to look back and laugh someday. _275 -- false alarm fire scared me worse than him.  
_

 


	47. Epilogue 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote this, I didn't expect how much more of the story would follow. As such, this chapter now exists as Chapter 2 of the sequel, Numbered Days. I apologize for the confusion.

I fucking hate being right. Never thought I’d feel that way, can’t believe I actually miss being wrong, shit-eating smug grin isn’t fun anymore when Ethan looks ready to cry. I told him he’d never hear the end of it, but I was lying. I’m not saying shit about what happened. I don’t plan to, don’t know what the fuck I’ll say. We have more experience with this being flipped around. We’d both be handling this better if I’d been wrong, he’d been right.

No, that’s pretty fucking stupid, that’s just about the stupidest thought I’ve had in awhile, and it’s the one Ethan catches me having when he decides to get my attention.

“Sacha?”

Tentative smile, eyes bright, face wavering close to getting wet again because my dumb fucking navigator is stuck in a sad guilt-loop I’m not sure I can break him out of.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. Fucking anxious about it, that way he gets when he catches me staring without actually looking at anything.

This is what I get for swallowing a handful of sedatives that smeared yesterday into grey blur, don’t really remember much after sitting in the ambulance with Ethan. I’ll have to tell Beth the good news first before admitting she was right about four being too many. I want to see if I surprise her with the good news, though, I’ve already started thinking of the most dramatic way to explain it. I think I’ll open with _hotel caught fire_ and just see where things go from there.

Ethan’s still waiting on an answer. I could lie, say I was thinking about Essem missing me or something stupid like that. I could say I was thinking about nothing, if I really wanted to make him cry. I could point out something over his shoulder, make a snide comment about continental breakfast, don’t even know what the fuck that means but I bet he does. Bet he’d explain what makes it continental as opposed to regular breakfast if I asked. I got lots of options to get him off my fucking back about being tired and bleary-eyed. I think I earned myself some unquestioned being wrong on easy things, after doing so much hard shit right.

Anything other than honesty’s just going to make him worse, even if the honest answer’s going to do it just the same. I wasted time thinking about it. Thanks to the whole reason he’s asking in the first place, it already took me too damn long to respond. Looking at his anxious expression I realize there’s no right answer, I’m totally fucked.

“I was thinking about yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Absolutely does not make me happier to be right about this either, Ethan’s expression upside-down sideways with worry. He gets small in his chair, flashes me a meek, apologetic smile. I see him glance aside, scope out the hotel staff. I think if that curly-haired manager shows back up my scared, skittish navigator might crawl under the table to hide. Probably start bawling, take all the fun out having him on his knees between mine.

My fingers roll over the table. His gaze flicks to the motion. He knows I’m over here thinking about yesterday and getting upset. No secret what happened, why it happened.

I force a tight smile. Not going to fight with Ethan on our honeymoon, goddammit, I did not spend months and months looking forward to this only to have something fuck it up. I’m not going to say anything else about yesterday, bad enough I'm sitting here thinking about it. We’ll focus on today.

“What’d you want to do?” I ask.

Ethan likes making plans. Fucking loves it, gets him wet to start pulling out guidebooks and talk excitedly about crap we both know we’re not going to go do. I might not be a total stick in the mud anymore, but I’m sure as fuck not going to hike to the top of any mountains to look at a bunch of water go over some rocks. I’ll go stick my hand in the shower spray if Ethan wants to see water get everywhere.

His turn to answer, I’m waiting on him to say something. He looks blank, has no fucking idea what I want from him.

“Ethan? I asked what you wanted to do today.”

“Oh.” Still blank, but he knows he’s suppose to respond.

Goddamn do I need him to stop saying _oh_ in that _oh I’m about to cry_ way that he’s been doing all morning. I know yesterday sucked. I know I woke us both up in the middle of the night with a bunch of bullshit. I know I’m not doing great today. I fucking know exactly how much I’m not doing that great right now, but I want to try anyway. I need my fucking navigator to get his head in the game, but I can't get mad at him for it. My poor fucking navigator is spiraling out on me, looping around in guilty circles over something I'm not even mad at him for.

I look beyond his sad sorry face for a moment, look past him to the pretty breakfast buffet, the big gorgeous windows. Fucking sunshine and rainbows outside, don't know why he has to look so miserable.

“It stopped raining. We could go to the beach.”

“Oh… Yeah, we could.”

Three whole extra words this time, but they just push him closer to the edge. Fuck. If he starts crying I can’t do this. I’m leaving. I start eyeing the exits, start planning my escape.

I think a little more carefully about what I just said, how he’s reacted. Not the beach, then. It’ll stress him out trying to keep track of me if I get in the water, he knows I’m shit at swimming still even if I’m not stupid enough to go wandering out into the ocean. Maybe he thinks there’s sharks in the fucking water, I don’t know, I just know the beach is out. Not doing that today.

Really I don’t think he’d be happy if we went anywhere with people, a crowd, anywhere too open where it’s hard for him to keep an eye on me. It needs to be inside, needs to be somewhere contained. I can’t sit in our room all day, I didn’t come all this way to just fucking sit in a room, I can do that at home. Ethan’s not going to want to hang around the hotel lounge, definitely can’t take him to the pool, actually the whole hotel’s making him look nervous. I’m not sure what he’ll do if he has to meet back up with that curly-haired manager, and I don’t want to find out either. I’ve got to get him out of the hotel.

“Let’s go see a movie.” Suddenly, too sudden, I make him flinch with it. I lower my voice, grimace what I hope to fuck is a nice smile. “There’s a theater around, right? Let’s do that. Let’s watch a movie.”

Movie theater’s a good one, cozy, relaxing, I’ll let him lean into my shoulder, I’ll put my arm around him, he’ll like that. Real easy to keep an eye on me if I’m right next to him, and he likes watching movies. Not too many ways in and out of a theater, either, he can pick a spot to watch all of them in case I go for one. Brilliant.

“Oh. Yeah...”

Fuck him, it was a good idea so why’s he looking miserable? Jaw clenching, snarling, trying real fucking hard to sound nice and not quite managing it. “We can do something else.”

“No,” he says softly. Eyes down, poking at his food. “Movie sounds fine. Fun. It sounds fun. Let’s go watch a movie.”

Says it like I’m offering instead to beat the shit out of him for a couple hours, which is how I know Ethan’s just dying to talk about yesterday. He loves that kind of shit, loves getting to fuss and apologize and be fucking miserable.

Seriously might have been easier if I’d been wrong. That’s about the worst thought I could be having. I don’t want to ask Ethan what he thinks, if he wishes he’d been right and I’d been wrong. Probably not. Seriously can’t imagine a world where Ethan would be happier for me being the one to get dragged out by the cops, him being the one waiting in the ambulance making nervous-nice with a bunch of fucking strangers while scared out of his goddamn mind.

Doesn’t matter that I already told him it was fine, I get it, I know why yesterday became such a fucking disaster even though I did everything right. I know he doesn’t trust me. Don’t blame him at all for it, told him from the get-go that was fine. He’s smart not to trust me, and I’m not out to make him start. Safer for us both if he doesn’t trust me, sucks it’s that way, but I get it. He can’t trust me. Guess him pretending sometimes might be nice, even if he knows it’s only a matter of time until I fuck this up. He should at least let me try to do this before he decides I can’t. I need him to help me get things lined up so I can take the shot. He’ll never know how good a fighter I can be for him if he won’t let me try.

Stupid fucking navigator. Lost his fucking head over a fire alarm, wasn’t even a real fire.

“Sacha?”

Quiet, scared, desperate like he doesn’t think I’m going to respond. Shit. He definitely caught me that time, I zoned out hard on him, no idea what I was looking at or how I looked, no fucking idea what I was doing besides getting lost in my own head.

I shift, try to be subtle about how I fast I stick a hand down the front of my pants, how frantic the gesture gets when my pocket’s empty. I left my medicine up in the room. I remember seeing it next to the sink, I left it there without thinking.

Fuck.

Okay.

Okay, that’s fine. Fine, took too many yesterday all at once anyway. Beth’s not going to like that, but I’ll gloss it over with the good news, about the fire. I kept my shit together for that, and this is just fucking breakfast. Continental or not, I can handle breakfast without losing my shit. This is fine.

“...Sacha?”

He looks ready to call me Cain, he’s ready to sob, run, hide, scream -- I’ll throw this whole fucking table to the floor if he does. I’ll show him what resisting arrest really looks like, really set this hotel on fire for him, set this whole goddamn vacation on fire. I’ll fuck this up, if he wants to see me fuck this up, because we both know exactly how capable I am of doing just that. I am making him live each day terrified of the one where I fuck this up.

I straighten some, pull myself together. I can do this. I can be nice to this dumb fucking navigator I’ve roped into spending the rest of his life with me. I can at least manage one fucking nice week for him before I make the rest of his life shit.

“Yeah. Yeah, Ethan, fine. I’m fine.” I flash him a tight, terse smile, make an effort to speak slower, nicer, less irritated and nervous. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

I can get through this fucking awkward as shit breakfast. I took down a fire yesterday, breakfast is a fucking cakewalk. I’ve done enough awkward meals with Ethan to handle this one. I force myself to focus on the ridiculous fucking minutiae of taking the next bite, exactly how I have to pick up the fork, press the stupid flat tines into the pastry so it’s nice, polite.

I should have told Ethan I wanted a road trip with dive bars and shitty motels rather than this fine china-twinkling resort we’re stuck in for the rest of the week. Just a fan-fucking-tastic set of walls and doors I’ve found for myself, even comes with a pretty balcony view. I’m chewing this pastry like I could kill it somehow, rip it the fuck apart with my teeth. I want to hit someone, something, fuck this so much. I hate the days when just eating breakfast is a fight.

Ethan watches me without seeming like it, worried and scared, poking his breakfast. He’s going to cry, with or without me being nice about it, he’s going to get scared and cry even if I do the right things. He glances up, big blue eyes gone liquid. Shit. He’s already started.

I push my chair back, stagger, nearly knock over my water, holy shit calm down. I get untangled from the chair and get upright, clutch shaking hands into the back of it for balance. “Going to the room.”

Not asking it, telling him, I need to get the fuck out of here. Immediately, his presence not required nor especially wanted, do not stop me or ask stupid questions, I am leaving.

His eyes widen some. He’s not being so scatterbrained this morning he doesn’t know what’s happening, what that tone means. He sits there pretty lips trembling, lashes quivering, three seconds away from sobbing. Has the fucking gall to look me right in the eye and whimper, “Oh.”

I can’t fucking look at him anymore. I can’t be nice to him, if he’s going to fucking cry. He needs to snap the fuck out of this guilt-loop, cut himself some slack, I’m not pissed that he fucked up. I did all the right things, I handled it, it sucked, but I did it. He doesn’t need to be sad and scared anymore. He doesn’t have to cry.

Shaking, chest tight, I need to leave -- right now, right the fuck now.

I hear him say something, hear him call my name after me, sounds frantic even though I just told him where I was going, always make sure to say where I’m going if I can. Put a fucking ring on him, put one on me, put his goddamn contact info around my neck to wear all the time, he doesn’t need to be scared.

Probably doesn’t make him feel any better, seeing me run off like this, but fuck him. I can’t do this right now. I can’t be nice to him. I can’t fucking do the first awkward cry-over-breakfast shitty day of our marriage, I’m not even out of the easy fun honeymoon part yet. 

I get in the elevator, punch the button. Nothing to do but wait, got myself nice and trapped in a square box, nothing to do, hardly anything to look at, nowhere to go, can’t even fucking pace, fuck. I grip my fingers into my hair, know I’m freaking out, doesn't fucking help to know I'm freaking out, need to stop, I’m alone in this small fucking box, can’t fucking breathe, try anyway, think about the floorplan of the apartment, try to remember exact details, colors, try to fucking focus, doesn’t fucking work, holy shit I am really freaking out, try something else, get help.

Get my phone, look at the time, do math, wince, probably not awake. Stare down at my shaking phone, hands shaking, fuck me, fuck this, fuck timezones, oh my God help me. 

Shit, fuck, okay. Focus. Fuck it time. Time to fuck this, I’m out, three-at-once time, bad day, tell Beth about it later just fuck it for now -- I juggle my phone into my other hand, let it fall straight to the fucking floor, don't care, dig into my front pocket and realize the pills are in the room. Fuck. Fuck, no, I knew that -- that’s why I’m in this elevator.

Holy shit I’m a mess, where’s my phone.

I snatch the phone up off the elevator floor, attack the fucking thing, start the call anyway, fuck timezones. Fuck he better be awake. Listen, heart pounding.  

Third ring, more like a protest than answering. “...nnn.” 

“Hey, Aleks.”

“Nnnm?” Still not awake.

“How’s the house? How’s the cat? Stupid motherfucker giving you any trouble?”

Long pause, the silent sound of him figuring out just what the fuck’s happening, why the hell I’m calling at a weird hour asking him dumb questions.

“Cat’s fine.” 

“That’s good. Anything interesting happen?”

“Drank the last of the milk.”

“You or Essem?”

“Me.”

“Oh, good. It was going to expire.”

“Yeah.”

I watch the floor numbers get bigger, listen to Aleks not know what else to say. Sometimes I have no fucking idea why he even bothers. 

“I guess that’s it.”

“Sure." He sounds relieved. "See you Saturday?”

He’s questioning this, like I’m going to announce Ethan and I decided to stay in the tropics. Bought ourselves a straw shack under a fucking waterfall. Or maybe he’s just trying to ask if I’m okay without actually asking me, because it isn’t that often I’m desperate enough to bully him into answering the phone. I know he hates it. Idiot doesn’t have to keep answering if he hates it.

“Yup. Coming back Saturday.”

“Okay."

We hang up, or rather I hang up. He’d probably stay there giving me bullshit responses until my phone battery died, but the elevator’s stopped, I’ve got stuff to do now besides annoy Aleks. I limp down the hall to the room, get there, realize I left my fucking room key on the breakfast table.

I say it aloud, sharp and distinct. “Goddammit.”

I even remember putting it down, thinking to myself it should go in my pocket, forgot about it almost immediately. I wonder if that’s what Ethan was trying to tell me, sounding so frantic, when I ran off on him. At least I have my phone on me. I put a hand to my chest, feel through my shirt to the stamped metal and chain of my dog tags, get a hard fist of fabric around the steel. I ran off without thinking, needed to leave so bad I got myself lost.

I stand there, staring at the locked door, holding the dog tags through my shirt. This going to be so fucking awkward when Ethan shows up looking for me. Worse if I try to doubleback now, because the last fucking thing I need is to be somewhere else when Ethan thinks I’ll be here.

I get leaned into the wall, press my shoulders into it, use the wall for leverage to make sliding down to the floor easier. I keep one leg curled to my chest, let the fucked up one do its own thing. I thumb into my contacts, force myself to scroll past Abel, Aleks, Beth -- I start the call, put my phone back to my ear.

“Hello?” He answers on the first ring, sounds braced for anything and everything. He’s the one I usually annoy all the time at weird hours asking dumb questions. He knows to expect this crap from me.

“Hey. I forgot my key.”

“I know, I have it. It’s on the table.”

His voice is soft, controlled. The way I bolted out of there like the room had caught fire must’ve slapped sense into him. I’d take the fire again over this shit. Awkward breakfasts are the worst, means the whole day's fucked if I can’t keep it together.

“Are you busy?”

Even though it’s a dumbshit question, he’s nice and gentle about answering. “No, I’m not busy.”

I close my eyes, grit my teeth. I’m going to be nice back to him if it kills me. “Can you bring it to me?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll head your way?”

“Yeah. I’m in the hall.”

We hang up, or rather I hang up. Definitely know Ethan would keep the call going forever, bet he’d love having an instant way to ping me at all times. I should have told the shrinks just to cut a fucking hole in my head, give Ethan a scoop and let him go to town finding the answers he wants. _What are you thinking? Where are you going? What are you doing? Where are you? Who are you with? Where have you been? What happened? Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay? Are you absolutely sure you’re okay or is this the day you break my heart and leave me?_

I thunk my head into the wall. Stare across at the bland arrangement of tastefully off-white walls and trim, maroon and navy carpet, boring, fuck this hotel. Fuck this hotel, fuck this trip, fuck trying to relax, fuck making Ethan happy, fuck pills that steal time from me and turn me useless, fuck feeling scared and weak, fuck working so fucking hard at this all the goddamn time I can’t believe I forgot the fucking key on the table, shit!

Ethan finds me like that. Sitting on the floor, forehead into my knee, bad leg twitching, all of me tense and shaking, breath tight, cold sweat, panicked and hating it. I thought I’d be in the fucking room for this at least, not stuck out in the hall.

I hear his footsteps, hear the way he starts walking quicker as he gets nearer, knows I’m not sitting out here for the fun of it. I hear him beep the key against the lock, the door opens, I don’t hear him say one word about the fact I’m out here in the hall freaking out. It’s nothing unusual, I do this all the time at home, this is me being wrong and him being right like always. This is our normal. The door closes, the latch clatters shut, it’s quiet.

I hear him come back out a few minutes later, comes over to stand next to me, crouch down next to me with what he has in his hands. Fucking never letting Ethan pick the hotel again, he found some goddamn fancy saucer to hold two round little pills. Glass of water and my room key go right next to the tiny plate. He is just un-fucking-real sometimes. He straightens, turns to leave.

I call him back. “Hey.”

His sandals shift on the carpet, he hesitates with the door propped open. I roll my forehead over my knee, lift up my head. He’s watching me, worried and scared, at least he’s not fucking crying. Longer I watch him back, less scared he looks, more sad he looks. Fuck. I think he’s figured out what I’m working up the nerve to say to him.

Makes me lose my nerve. I look somewhere else, look at whatever’s not him. “Yesterday sucked.”

“Oh.” The door eases closed, latches, both of us out in the hall now. “Oh, Sacha. It wasn’t so bad.”

“No, it sucked.” I press my face into my knee, fight tears. I try not to fucking cry and do it anyway. I get breath-hitched weepy in the way I hate and can’t do anything about. “Ethan, it _sucked_ . I didn’t have my pills, I didn’t have my phone, I didn’t know where you _were_ \--”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry.”

“-- I was so scared, I didn’t know what was going to happen, what I might do, if this was it, it would all be over, I’d never even fucking see you again just wake up somewhere wrong --”

“Oh, Sacha -- Sacha, no --”

He’s in front of me now, melted into softness, gone stupid with it, crying because I’m bawling, I can’t stop. I can’t get mad at him for crying when I start doing it first.

“-- I wanted to run, but, I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t leave, I couldn’t go look for you either, I didn’t know what to do, I had to get help --”

“I’m know, Sacha, I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know why he wants me to talk if he’s just going to interrupt. I don’t know why he’s so fucking unhappy when he was the one who wanted to do this, he wanted to talk about yesterday.

“-- then you show up, useless as shit. I fucking needed you, Ethan, I needed my navigator and you weren’t there. It sucked, it just fucking sucks sometimes and that’s not fair, I'm sorry, you shouldn’t have to do this, you should be able to fuck up sometimes --”

“Oh, Sacha --”

“But I’m trying, Ethan. I swear to God I’m trying, I’m trying so goddamn hard and I just can’t, I fucking can’t, I can’t do this --”

“No, you can!” He turns dry-eyed, desperate. He pushes his fingers through my hair. He strokes my shoulder, flutters at me. “Sacha, you can. You can do this, you're doing it. One day at a time, baby, you can do this. Yesterday’s over. You did it. Focus on today.”

“Today fucking sucks. It just started, and it already sucks.” Like our honeymoon, like our marriage, didn’t even make it a fucking week.

“It’s not so bad,” he soothes. “Today’s not so bad, Sacha.”

“Today sucks,” I sob.

It’s a bit of that for a while, my poor dumb fucking navigator having to sit there listening to his fighter whine and moan like a little bitch. Eventually I stop, get sick of feeling sorry for myself, make myself sick with sobbing. I let Ethan drag me off the floor, dump me into bed.

I’m on my fucking honeymoon, in bed with this hot piece of mine, and everything’s miserable. Seems about right, feels just like home. I don’t know why I made us both come all the way out here just to watch movies in bed like always on shit days.

He might be the best navigator, but he’s still stupid enough to let me talk him into this mess. I’m the only one of us who’s ever been smart enough to leave, but he makes me stupid enough too that I keep coming back. Makes me so stupid that I get terrified thinking I won't get to come back, won't know how. I wear his fucking name, where to find him, I keep it around my neck so I'll never lose him, even if I get lost.

It’s a lot of that, an entire day of that, being sick and miserable. Later when Aleks is actually awake he texts me, I text him back. Ethan sucks it up to go face down the hotel staff, comes back to the room with a deck of cards and gets me doing something that takes more focus than staring at a screen. Aleks sends me a picture of Essem, I wonder how long he had to chase her around the apartment to get her dumbass face actually looking at the camera. I show it to Ethan, let him get curious about what the fuck Aleks and me are talking about, hand him the scoop and let him go to town with it.

I wake up in the middle of the night, or maybe I’m not asleep yet. Everything’s slow about coming together. I’m in a bed, not my bed, but this hot piece of mine’s in it with me so I guess that does make it mine. I got tickly little fingers scratching into my hair. He’s awake. I can hear something, television maybe, I part thickness from my eyes briefly to see it’s all flickering glow and soft volume, murmured background nonsense. Hotel.

Ethan slips from the bed, he must think I’m asleep. I certainly slump heavily enough into the empty warmth he leaves behind to be asleep. I think my eyes went shut again. I think I remember a shit day, grey blur, Aleks sent me a picture of the cat. Awkward as shit breakfast that morning, wanted the day over faster, I popped a double-dose of sleeping pills before bed. Great getting me to unwind, just sucks if I do this bullshit later, being alert inside while dead to the world outside. As far as side-effects go, it could be worse.

Ethan’s back in the bed, pushes me out of the way to get comfortable, definitely thinks I’m asleep. I hear the soft scritch-scratch of pen on paper. He’s writing this one down, it’s late enough that I did it. I got all the way through the day without fucking it up too much. I get to try again. I get to be here for tomorrow. 

“What day’s it?” That slurred out mess is me, speaking, can’t get too mad at him for always pestering me with questions when I do this to him, always bug him at weird hours with dumb questions.

“Two hundred seventy-six,” he says softly, whispers it like I’m asleep even though I’m talking to him. Always sounds like that when I get like this.

When I try to shift he helps, drags the bad leg for me since it’s dead weight. I get flopped into him, cuddle up against my navigator since I’m asleep, doesn’t count.

I get to mumble my dumb questions right into his neck now. “Think I’ll make three hundred?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

“Four hundred?”

“Sure,” he says.

"Five hundred?"

My eyes are closed, everything’s dark, but I can hear him smiling. “Yes, but I might run out room by then.”

“Get you another one for Christmas.”

“No… No, don’t do that,” he says quietly. I don’t think he likes that he does it. I hope I’m not being a jerk asking about it.

First time I caught him at it, we had a big fight. I know it was day eighty-something because he fucking counts them, I saw all the numbers before he ripped the journal out of my hands. I saw some of what he wrote. A lot of cussing and screaming followed. I stormed out, just said _going_ for my destination that time, took off without my phone or meds. I couldn’t be too mad at him for getting frantic and chasing me down.

I can’t be mad at him for keeping count, either, when he knows it’s just a matter of time. I’ll fuck this up eventually. I try not to let it scare me, try more not to let it scare him, but it’s so fucking hard sometimes. It’s the hardest goddamn fight of my life, and I don’t think I’m ever going to win. Good thing I’m a tough stubborn asshole who doesn’t know when to quit.  

It gets tangled into a sigh, tumbles out as heavy as the rest of me. “Sorry.” I chew around my numb lips to get the words out, they’re important. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”

Ethan’s fingers tremble as they run through my bangs, brush the hair aside, guess he wants a better look at my drooling mean mug of a face. I don’t hear him say anything back. Maybe I’m asleep all the way through, maybe I’ll stay that way for the rest of the night now.

He whispers, like I really am asleep. “Sacha, you’re doing great. You did great today and yesterday both, day before that, too -- You are doing such a good job, baby. I can tell how hard you're working at this. I'm proud of you.”

He’s an idiot. My dumb fucking navigator says the stupidest things. I get so fucking crazy sometimes just trying to make everything nice for him because he’s like this, he’s soft and stupid. I feel him shift, hear the blankets rustling. Ethan’s nose bumps my cheek, his tender lips find my slack ones, he presses close. I hear him sigh like he's going to fall asleep. 

He leaves the television on, knows I like the background murmur blocking sounds that aren’t normal, aren’t home. He’s smart like that, knows all this shit without me having to point it out, learned quick about the stuff I did have to point out. If he knew already why I was upset, why’d he make me talk about it? I knew he was sorry. I know what it’s like to do the wrong thing despite trying hard. It fucking sucks.

I got one final dumb question for him before I’ll shut up and let us both get some sleep. “Ethan, do I make you happy?”

His breath drags in, shaky and wet, but it comes out steady and smooth. "Yes." I got him back at the controls again, he’s willing to line up the shots for me like I need. “Yes, Sacha. You make me very happy.”

“Yeah,” I say. Kiss him, there on his neck, some sloppy bite thing that’s more like clever drooling than anything. I hope he likes it. I hope he likes the way I say it nice. I say it real fucking nice for him so he knows what I mean. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Ethan echoes. He always sounds so much nicer than me when he says it. He strokes my hair, idly traces ticklish touches over my shoulder, turns a kiss into my forehead and leaves it there. He doesn’t say anything else, but I know what he means. I know exactly what this dumb navigator of mine is thinking, because I’m thinking it right back at him.


End file.
